


Absolute Dating Technique

by earthseraph



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Archaeologist!Bucky, Author Uses Creative License With Infinity Stones, Captain America!Steve, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Inhuman!Bucky, M/M, Slow Build, Waterboarding, attempts at humor, author is an anthropology major which at author's uni includes archaeology, honestly this isn't as dark as it sounds there is fluff and humor i swear, modern!Bucky, not explicitly shown, y'all gonna be so educated on archaeology like this is the intro to intro to archaeology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7797838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/earthseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Last night the ruby was all he could think about- that and the headache he suddenly got before bed, but mostly the ruby. He doesn’t know why he’s so fixated on the damn thing, maybe because it’s a big find, maybe because his parents would be proud of him for discovering this sort of thing, all he knows is that he can’t take his mind off the stone. It’s like he’s got a crush, but instead of it being on a person it’s on a stone. Typical.</em>
</p><hr/><p>Bucky's your run of the mill archaeology grad student: He's just trying to get something excavated, get something written, get published, and bank. That’s it. Nothing big or special, but while he’s excavating a ruin in Mexico he finds a stone that changes his life. An Infinity Stone.</p><p>Instead of being a normal grad student now he has powers he needs to learn to control, he’s being hunted by a group of crazy Nazi scientists he thought only existed in history books, and he’s being recruited by the Avengers.</p><p>(Or: The One Where Bucky Gets Powers When All He Wants To Do Is Dig)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolute Dating Technique

**Author's Note:**

> This fic took a village.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who helped me out on this, especially [Remi](http://remingtonfae.tumblr.com/) and [Gina](http://brickhousebuck.tumblr.com/). To my artists [Loretta](http://milollita.tumblr.com/) and [Pat](http://vanillatumbleweedscoffee.tumblr.com/) who saw my fic in the waves of all the other amazing ones and thought it was worthy of art.
> 
> Links to Loretta's art: [Here!](http://milollita.tumblr.com/post/149166679361/)
> 
> Links to Pat's art: [Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7813315) and [here!](http://murderous-coffeebean.tumblr.com/post/149237461744)
> 
> Hope you enjoy the fic!
> 
> (If you have concerns about the waterboarding tag please go to the end notes!)

Mexico is burning hot. 

The ground burns where he’s crouching, the water in his bottle seems to boil over instantly, the breeze isn’t cool but like opening an oven, everything about this place is hot. Bucky would say he hates it, hates the red topsoil and black earth that always ends up in his shoes and the sweat stains that ruin his white shirts, but he doesn’t. He fucking loves it. 

Bucky wipes sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, sighing as he leans back to survey his work. He’s slowly but surely excavating what he thinks is a burial, carefully moving the dirt aside with his trowel, making sure he doesn’t hit an artifact with the shovel like that one guy did in Arrested Development. He’s been at this part of the site for hours now, kneeling around the border of the three foot by three foot space he gave himself, removing dirt from each one-foot by one-foot section until he finds something or nothing.

It’s soothing. 

Breaking apart the red dirt with a trowel, setting it to the side, making sure there aren’t any artifacts in his dirt. He listens to the sounds of interns and supervisors chattering as they work. Some of them freaking out the first time they find something that might be worthwhile, the snap of a camera’s shutter as high resolution images are taken of artifacts and the site. He mostly works alone, leaving the undergrad students to be taken care of by their graduate leader, but instead of it being lonely it’s a relief that he’s no longer under constant supervision of an elder or having to teach some fresh-eyed student how things work. Now, with him finally getting signed off by the museum, going through the motions of getting his dissertation done, he can finally have some peace during this excavation.

Being a part of this site is more than something Bucky can put on his resume, more than something Bucky can write a book about; it’s something that ties him back to his parents. He’s lucky enough that he was even offered a spot on this excavation, but with it being in Mexico- that’s almost a dream come true. 

His parents were archaeologists until their death, exploring a yellow fire opal mine in the Mexican highlands before it collapsed and killed them. He was ten when it happened, too young to completely understand, staying with a nanny while they went on their adventure, and he’s not bitter towards them. They loved him, but they also loved archaeology, and he understands that now. There’s nothing he loves more than archaeology, he thinks. Nothing could tear him away from his love of the dirt and finding out about the past. He won’t let that happen.

Bucky moves over to the next section on his knees, trowel and clipboard in hand, ignoring the fact that the ground burns and that once he’s done with this excavation he’ll probably have to throw all his pants away. He looks down at the clipboard, marking the empty one-foot by one-foot square before setting it to the side. Carefully, Bucky leans over the string border and sticks his trowel into the earth, pulling up a clump of dirt that he sets to the side to be placed back in once they’re done here. He continues the process: stick trowel in ground, look through dirt, deposit useless dirt beside him, stick trowel in ground, look through dirt, deposit useless dirt beside him. Until the tip of his trowel hits something in the earth.

Bucky grins, his heart rate picking up a beat, because he finally found something! Instead of using the trowel to dig out whatever’s down there, he sets it aside and moves the dirt out of the way with his hands. He ignores the feeling of dirt getting caught in his nails, and the fact that he’ll be picking it out for days, in favor of moving the dirt. It takes him much longer than it would have with the trowel to unearth the object, but when he does finally unearth the object, he frowns.

The object isn’t a clay burial like he assumed, but a ruby. It’s about the size of a walnut, a deep blood red, and shiny like it was never in the earth. The edges are rough, the surface smooth, obviously altered from its natural jagged state. He rotates the gem in his hand, feeling an odd sort of pull to it. With a shake of his head he places the ruby on a section of dirt he has yet to bother with his trowel and grabs his clipboard, reaching a bit further to drag his bag closer by the strap.

Bucky digs through the satchel, ignoring trinkets and other notebooks he has in the bag for an L square ruler and his camera. He picks up the ruby once more, placing it on his clipboard against the right angle of the ruler. The red of the ruby is a stark contrast against the white of his papers, and it doesn’t take up much space with it’s one and a half inch size. Bucky leans back to take a picture of it, making sure to get its best angles. After looking over the images he nods to himself, placing the camera down and picking his pen up instead so he can document what he found. He fills in the slots quickly before pushing himself up from the ground, dusting off the knees of his pants to the best of his ability, dumping everything but the ruby in his bag before making his way to the artifact tent.

* * *

* * *

“Hey, Bobbi.”

“Bucky,” Bobbi says, her eyes not lifting from where they’re focused on the artifact she’s cleaning.

Bucky sits in front of her at one of the tables, ruby still clutched in his hand. “You remember anything from Intro to Geology?”

She finally looks up from the small pot she was dusting off, a curl of hair sticking to her forehead. “A little bit, why?”

“Oh, I dunno’.” Bucky shrugs, a grin spreading across his lips, “Just that I found a ruby in a place I’m almost positive rubies weren’t mined or traded at.” He sets the ruby on the table from where he was clutching it in his hand, grinning wide and toothy. He almost feels like preening, like a proud soccer mom to this ruby.

Bobbi reaches across the table and picks up the ruby. She has white gloves on her hands and a touch so careful it seems like the gem is something fragile and not something that withstood pressure from the dirt for centuries, “Did you just clean this off?”

“Nope,” Bucky says, popping the ‘p’, “Found it just like that.”

She shakes her hand with the ruby in it, “Like _this_?”

Bucky nods, watching as she flicks her eyes back down to the ruby with a stunned look on her face.

“It doesn’t look like it’s spent a day in the earth.” She shakes her head, “How?”

“I dunno’, but it’s how I found it.” He extends his hand out for her to give him back the ruby and holds it up to the light, “I wonder how they could have gotten this. It would have to have traveled thousands of miles by land and overseas.”

Bobbi blows out a breath, sitting back on her stool, hands on her thighs. “If I remember correctly the closest place rubies were found was in Brazil, but that’s a very far trek seeing as horses weren’t used here yet. I think we need to check the radioactive decay to see how old it is.” Bobbi says with a nod of her head.

Bucky lowers the ruby. He feels attached to the stone, oddly enough. It’s not the first artifact he’s found, nor is it the first one he’s uncovered while working this excavation with Bobbi, so he doesn’t know why there’s an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach when he thinks about sending it back to the States to be tested. 

“I think we should wait,” He says, his fingers wrapped around the gem, “See if we find anything else like it and send it back as a group.”

“Are you sure?” There’s an edge to her voice that Bucky ignores.

“Yeah.” He nods, “I found this in a peasant burial, if there’s more like it they should be with the high class folk.”

She purses her lips, looking him over before nodding. “Sure, fine, but if we don’t find anything within the next week, we’re sending it to the States alone.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but relief fills him. “Gotcha’-” he raises the ruby, “-I’m gonna clean it even though it’s pretty much pristine.”

Bobbi pushes herself off the stool, pointing at Bucky, “Don’t fuck with my pot while I go make a call.”

“I didn’t know you smoked weed, Bobbi,” He pretend gasps, bringing a hand to his mouth, “What will the Board say?”

Bobbi rolls her eyes and walks out of the tent. 

Bucky grins to himself for a moment before sliding off his own stool and heading over to the portable sink they set up specifically for this. He grabs a basin and a sifter, setting the ruby in the sifter and the basin underneath, pumping the pedal with his foot to get water. The water’s hot from the tank being in the sun all day so he quickly rinses the ruby off, wiping away the thin layer of dirt until it’s bright and shining. Taking his foot off the pump, he drains the basin and puts it and the sifter back where they belong.

The ruby’s shining brighter after its wash, even in the dim lighting of the tent. Bucky turns the stone over in his hand a couple of times, watching it catch the light before sighing and walking to the safe. He bags and tags the ruby, quickly unlocking the safe and setting the bag in. Bucky takes a moment to look at the bagged ruby. It’s a beautiful red, deep and blood-like with it’s freshly cleaned surface. He doesn’t want to put it in the safe, to leave the ruby alone, but he knows he has to. Bucky shakes his head, forcing his attachment to the stone away, before closing and locking the safe.

“You heading to the hotel?” Bobbi asks, back from whatever call she had to make, playing with the brush she was using to dust off the pot she found.

Bucky nods, stretching his back with a groan. “Yeah, it’s getting late and I found something, so I think that calls for me heading back to the hotel and getting a good night’s sleep.”

“You’ll finish your part of the site tomorrow, though?” She asks, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, think it’s a burial so it shouldn’t take too long.” 

“As long as you get it done,” Bobbi says, pointing to him with her brush.

He rolls his eyes, nodding, and throws her a salute. “See you tomorrow.”

Bucky leaves the tent quickly. It’s not that he didn’t want to stay and chat, it’s that now he feels drained, like all his energy suddenly left his body. He feels like he needs to sleep for more than his usual six hours, tonight, and that he needs to actually get eight or he’ll regret it in the morning. He feels odd and can’t put a finger on why. He’s a grad student, sleeping less than practical is normal, but it seems like his body doesn’t want to follow those rules of nature.

The sun’s already setting when he exits the tent, a beautiful mix of colors behind their site, the Sun and Moon pyramids visible but only on the very edge of the horizon. Around him the hired workers and students are still busy at work, some of them digging, some taking notes, some just watching, and while he should be doing the same he feels accomplished enough to leave the site. He found a ruby in a place that doesn’t have them, if that’s not the coolest shit he doesn’t know what is. Even though he’s drained like he just ran a mile, the fact that he found something trumps everything.

With another glance to the site, Bucky sticks his hands in his pockets and walks to the exit. Tomorrow he’s going to check on the ruby, probably excavate a burial, and have more to write in his notebooks about the ancient pyramids of Mexico. He’s both going to make himself proud by writing his dissertation on this and make his parents proud by finishing this excavation with good marks. He’s going to be _the_ person that found a stone from Brazil in a square of dirt that dates well before long distance transportation became a thing.

This is going to be the best site he’s ever excavated.

* * *

* * *

Instead of going back to the area he’s excavating (and finishing it like he promised Bobbi), Bucky makes his way to the artifact tent. 

Last night the ruby was all he could think about- that and the headache he suddenly got before bed, but mostly the ruby. He doesn’t know why he’s so fixated on the damn thing, maybe because it’s a big find, maybe because his parents would be proud of him for discovering this sort of thing, all he knows is that he can’t take his mind off the stone. It’s like he’s got a crush, but instead of it being on a person it’s on a stone. Typical. 

There’s nobody in the tent when he gets there, seeing as it’s closer to six than seven in the morning when everyone’s supposed to show up, so he has the place to himself. 

Bucky makes his way to the safe and quickly spins the code, making sure not to over shoot the numbers like he’s done in the past. Thankfully, the safe opens at the last spin of the dial, and there sits the bagged ruby. With careful hands Bucky takes the bag out of the safe, holding the ruby through the plastic with one hand as if it would somehow rip and fall through his hands to the floor. He closes the safe’s door with his hip, not locking it seeing as he’s going to put it back in a few moments. 

He walks over to one of the examination tables, setting the bag down gently before pulling out a stool and sitting down. Bucky unzips the bag and sticks his hand in to pull the ruby out. When his fingers touch the gem a wave a nausea washes over Bucky, making him pause halfway through taking the gem out to place a hand on his stomach instead. 

Bucky doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, yesterday with the fatigue and headaches, today with the nausea. He hasn’t eaten anything bad, or drank any tap water. He’s not out in the sun for too long, and makes sure to take breaks during excavations so he doesn’t tire himself out. He doesn’t think he’s caught some sort of bug seeing as nobody on the team is sick, and he makes sure to wash his hands before doing anything. But the fatigue, constant headache, and the nausea all points to him being sick. Or pregnant, but that’s impossible. 

With a shake of his head, Bucky pulls the ruby out of the bag-

-and promptly drops it on the table because, goddamn, now he’s light-headed.

Bucky grips the edge of the table, trying not to sway on the stool. He takes in a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs until it burns, and exhales slowly. It doesn’t work to stop the dizziness. He tries to blink the spots out of his eyes, wondering that the fuck is going on with him, when it all turns black.

* * *

* * *

Bucky wakes with a start, almost jumping out of the cot he’s laying in.

“Woah!” Someone says, pressing their hand on his chest until he lays back down, “Chill out a bit.”

Bucky looks up at the person who’s pushing him back down and relaxes. It’s Kate one of the other students on the team, “What happened?”

Kate sits back down on a stool by his bed, she plops a damp towel on his head, cooling his skin. “I found you passed out in the artifact tent, got some help, and now you’re in the med tent.”

Bucky frowns, trying to remember what he was doing before he snaps his eyes back up to Kate, “What happened to the ruby, is it okay?”

This time it’s Kate who frowns. “What ruby, there wasn’t a ruby?” She presses the back of her hand to his cheek, “Are you running a fever? It’s too damn hot here for me to tell.”

Bucky opens his mouth to mention the ruby again but something makes him close it. He doesn’t want to look or sound crazy. If there wasn’t a ruby there then either someone stole it, or this whole finding has been a fever dream. He brings his hand up to his forehead, pressing the cloth closer to his skin. “It must be the heat,” He says instead. Bucky doesn’t know why he’s lying, there’s photographic evidence, he documented his findings yesterday, but he feels like he _needs_ to lie about his.

Kate eyes him. “Okay, Buck, just stay here until the nurse comes back with more ice packs. This heat stroke thing isn’t uncommon, apparently.”

“Yeah, it is really fucking hot.” He doesn’t mention the fact that he’s been on minor excavations in tropical forests, with humidity and heat. He doesn’t mention the fact that his parents would take him out as a kid to the site they were working on, getting him used to hot weather at a young age. Heat isn’t anything to him but annoying.

“Agreed.” Kate nods, she undoes her bun, pulling it up higher, “I should have cut my hair before coming, got a little pixie or something.”

He looks at the black ball of hair on her head, sympathizing, “There’s a barber shop in town, go on the weekend.”

Kate rolls her eyes. “I can’t speak Spanish.”

“¿Puedes cortar mi pelo?” Bucky says with a grin, the Spanish rolling off his tongue. His parents taught him Spanish at a young age, took him to Mexico with them on their trips, and he took classes in college. He’s a pro at it, if only his white ass accent would go away.

Kate slaps his shoulder, “Not all of us took Spanish in college, some of us took Latin.”

“What do you need Latin for? You’re an anthropology major, it’s all spelled out for you.” It’s literally all spelled out for them, sure they have to remember some Latin names, but they don’t have to read it. They’re not excavating a church in Spain.

“It looks prestigious,” Kate says, shrugging a shoulder.

“So does getting down and dirty in the dirt,” He says, wiggling his eyebrows up at her.

Kate rolls her eyes again, getting up off her stool. “You’re a dork and I’m going to go see if the nurse is back so she can relieve me of the torture of dealing with you.”

Bucky points at her, “Don’t make me leave you with all my field notes to look through and catalogue.” The ultimate threat to any archaeologist. Field notes are actual hell on earth.

Kate stops, mid step, turning around, “You wouldn’t dare.”

Bucky drops his hand, crossing his arms over his chest, knowing how much everyone hates taking notes over every little step of the excavation process. “Watch me.”

“Fine,” She huffs, “I’m going to see if the nurse is back and dreadfully leave your side so I can go to the calling of beautiful red dirt and bones, no matter how much it hurts my soul.”

“Much better,” Bucky says with a grin, snorting to himself when she leaves.

The grin slips off his face when she’s gone. Bucky stares up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, he doesn’t know why he lied to her, but he still feels the need to. He still feels like there’s something to hide with that stone. It makes him feel uncomfortable, not telling the truth to one of his peers, but he has a gut feeling, and he’s always listens to his gut.

Bucky uncrosses his arms, and sticks his hands in his jean pockets. He frowns when his left hand comes across something smooth. He rubs it between his fingers before pulling it out, almost dropping it in surprise.

It’s the ruby. 

In his left hand he holds the ruby in all its red flare. He doesn’t know how it’s here, or why, but it is. He feels drawn to the ruby, like before but stronger, simmering under his skin and in his veins. He doesn’t know what this means- the draw to the ruby, it somehow ending up in his pocket- but he knows he needs to protect it. Somehow, in some way, he knows this ruby’s important. 

Bucky’s frown deepens. What if this ruby’s the cause of him fainting? He didn’t feel sick before he found it, and he definitely felt tired and got a headache the moment he left it in the tent. This morning he felt like he had the beginnings of a flu, and proceeded to pass out. Now he wakes up and has the ruby in his pocket? This ruby might be more than the product of two tectonic plates mashing together.

He can hear Kate’s voice as she nears the tent once more, so he quickly slips the ruby back into his pocket, relaxing his body back into the cot. He’ll deal with the ruby and his draw to it later.

* * *

* * *

Bucky’s sentenced to three days of bed rest. He’s not allowed to go back to the damn site he worked his ass off to get on unless they find something major. Meaning: he has three days to laze in his room and do nothing with. Three days that he could be doing hands-on research for this dissertation but instead has to lay around because of dumb symptoms that possibly came with a stone. The stone in question is sitting on the bedside table, right under the lamp where he can keep an eye on it, lest it disappear on him.

He’s sitting cross legged on his bed, back against the headboard, backpack full of notebooks on his lap, satchel he carries with him next to his hip. He has a cooling pack on his forehead despite the fact he cranked his room’s AC up to the highest speed and lowered it to its coolest setting. He briefly entertains the idea that he did have a heat stroke before pushing it to the back of his head because he literally grew up in this sort of weather, he went to his first tropical excavation site at the tender age of five with his parents. This weather is normal. The only thing he can blame this sickness on is the ruby.

Bucky frowns at the stone and grabs it off the bedside table along with a notebook. The notebook’s leather cover is worn in his hands. Worn from months of use by his parents on one of their excavations, and by him when it was passed down after their death. He flips the notebook open, giving the slanted scrawl of his mother’s handwriting a small smile, and thumbs through the pages until he finds her section on the geology of Mexico. Of course, like he assumed earlier, rubies don’t exist in the Yucatan. He looks up from the notebook to the ceiling, sighing at the stab of his headache, before looking back down to his lap. The closest thing to this stone is a fire opal, but fire opal is both too small and not red enough. Another sigh escapes him and he closes the notebook. His parents notes are, sadly, useless in this situation. Along with all the dozen or so other leather notebooks from his parents that Bucky shoved into his carry on bag.

Bucky dumps out all the notebooks from his backpack onto the bed, pushing the ones written in by his parents aside until he finds his own. All of his look the same, dark brown leather cover, light brown grosgrain cord page marker, and a golden _J.B.B._ on the bottom right corner. It’s a slightly pretentious set of notebooks but he doesn’t care because it makes him feel a little bit closer to his parents- besides, they left him a fuckton of money and a mansion so he can splurge on notebooks. He’s basically Batman. Archaeologist Batman. Bucky grins to himself at the idea, snorting, because he’s an idiot. 

Relief fills him when he finds the notebook he’s looking for. He grabs a hotel pen he stole from the lobby earlier, a random pack of color pencils he brought with him, and creates his own log for the ruby.

Weird Ass Stone (Could Be a Ruby)

Date: June 16th

Time: 9:09AM

  * Size: Good Healthy Walnut (about 1.5 inches)
  * Color: Red (like blood red)
  * Smell: Normal Rock Smell
  * Weight: Decent (don’t have a scale on my person)
  * Description: Smooth (not akin to a baby’s butt)
>Gave me flu like symptoms after finding. 


Bucky looks down at his very shitty log for the stone. He rolls his eyes, shutting his notebook and pushing it- along with the pen and pencils- off his knee. He carefully places the stone back onto the bedside table, shooting a glare at it because the damn thing had to give him these bouts of nausea, and headaches among other things. Bucky rubs his eyes with the palm of his hand, sighing roughly, before dropping them. He could be out there right now. Digging, finding research for his dissertation. He’s worked so hard to get here, to the home stretch before getting his PhD, and now he’s benched. Locked away in his room under firm orders to not return to the site until three days have passed or he’ll be subjected to logging notes. The threat is almost as bad as being stuck in his room.

Looking at the mess he made of his bed, Bucky pulls his backpack up to his chest and starts to pack away his notebooks. He’s almost halfway done when something tickles his nose, making him blink and scrunch his face in preparation for a sneeze. He inhales three times, eyes scrunching close, before the tickling becomes too much and he lets out the sneeze. 

Bucky hears a loud _woosh_ , his ears popping, as he lets out the sneeze- two more following after the one. Each time the _woosh_ ing sound happens and his ears pop like he’s on a plane. Bucky rubs his face with his hands, having not covered his mouth. He shakes his head a couple of times in attempt to get his ears back to normal, but it’s useless, and opens his eyes.

“What the fuck!” Bucky yelps, slightly jumping, hands flat on the headboard like someone pushed him against it. The entire room looks like a tornado came through. The pictures that were hanging on the walls are now face down on the floor, the notebooks that were on his bed are now strewn around various parts of the room, his blankets are on the floor, and the door leading to his en suite bathroom is now open. 

His eyes are wide as he looks around. “Did I just do that?” Bucky asks nobody, still frozen in his push against the position. His eyes flick to bedside table, and sure enough there’s the fucking rock. 

Out of curiosity, Bucky rubs his nose and lets out a fake sneeze. The bed sheets move slightly in a wave of deep red, “Fuck!” Bucky yells again, jumping because _what the hell!_

Bucky leans over and picks up the stone, glaring at it’s smooth, red surface. He doesn’t think the stone gave him sneezing powers, but gave him _powers_ in general, like those Inhumans and Avengers he sees on CNN almost every other day.

With that thought in mind, Bucky sets the rock beside him on the bed. He settles his eyes on the nearest notebook to him, placing his left index and ring finger on his temple. Bucky narrows his eyes, focusing completely on the journal, he can faintly feel his hair moving like there’s wind surrounding him. He clenches his jaw and grits his teeth in concentration, repeating _journal journal journal_ again and again in his head like it’s going to help. He’s about to give up, unclench his jaw and drop the concentration, when the notebook slides closer ever so slightly.

Bucky feels a grin spreading on his face at the small movement of the notebook and mentally fist pumps. He clears his throat, narrowing his eyes once more, trying to pull the notebook closer. 

After a few moments of trying he breaks concentration with a pant. There’s sweat dripping down his chin like he just ran a mile, his head his pounding from the concentration, and his jaw aches. The notebook didn’t get as close to him as he wanted it to, ending up a foot or two away instead of on his lap, but he supposes that’s as good as it’s going to get for his first time using his powers. He didn’t expect to be as good as Scarlet Witch- or whatever her name is- and he doesn’t expect to be that good for a long while, he just wants to be better.

Bucky leans back against the headboard, taking in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. He needs to clean up the room, log whatever the hell just happened, and maybe test out his new powers, but right now all he feels is drained and tired. Like he did his whole exercise routine three times over and hasn’t slept for hours. Bucky drags his hand up to the nightstand and pulls the stone off, he holds it tightly in his fist as his eyes flutter shut. 

Power radiates from the stone to his hand, flowing through his blood like a cold shot of saline through his veins. He grips the stone tighter in his hand, holding it close to his chest, hoping that maybe he’ll have better control of this power when he wakes up. 

He’s scared, slightly. Scared of what’s happening to him and what _can_ happen to him. These powers aren’t normal, and neither is this stone. Red flares shouldn’t be shooting out of his hands like he’s some science experiment gone wrong, he shouldn’t be able to lift these notebooks with his mind or do any of the other odd things this stone’s made him do. He’s scared and worried of what this could mean for his research and graduation. Archaeology is his life, it’s his blood, and these powers could mess that up. He doesn’t want that, not right now, not ever.

Bucky takes in deep, calming breaths as he clutches the stone. He tells himself that nothing’s going to happen to him, nothing’s going to go wrong, that it’ll all be okay, until he can’t discern whether he’s telling the truth or not. Until his eyes shut and he falls asleep with the stone radiating warmth in his hand.

* * *

* * *

Weird Ass Stone (Could Be a Ruby) No.2

Date: June 17th

Time: 11:41 AM

Got a nosebleed trying to levitate three notebooks at once. I think I need more tissues.

Date: June 17th

Time: 2:30PM

Apparently I can shoot red masses out of my hand. Bye bye curtains.

Date: June 17th

Time: 7:08PM

Went for a run because I was tired of being cooped up in my room. My old mile time was a little under thirteen minutes (I fucking hate cardio) and now it’s just under seven. Need to look into this more.

Date: June 17th

Time: 11:01PM

I’m apparently good at math now.

* * *

* * *

Weird Ass Stone (Could Be a Ruby) No.3

Date: June 18th

Time: 1:22PM

I tried leaving the stone in a locked box in my room while I went for a run but when I checked my pocket for my phone it was there. I tried leaving it on my bed while I showered when I got back to my room but when I pulled back the curtain it was on the sink counter.

I’m not sure why the stone got an attachment to me, since Bobbi touched it too, but it’s not leaving my side, apparently.

(checking in on the stamina and endurance: I was able to run four miles today in under thirty minutes, I don’t know what’s going on with my body anymore.)

* * *

* * *

_I feel great,_ Bucky thinks as he stands on his toes to stretch out the soreness from crouching all day, thankful that he’s out of the sun and in a tent. He and Kate uncovered half a tomb before the sun set, there’s dirt under his nails and all over his pants, and his shirt’s clinging to his back with sweat. Nothing could better than this right now, not when he’s finally back doing what he loves after days of being benched with constant worries and fears and discoveries of things he can’t write in his dissertation. 

Dropping the stretch, Bucky grabs a water bottle from the fridge, and leaves the artifact tent. It’s already dark out, some stars shining in the sky, the moon nice and full, even the air has cooled down. He’s walking along the edge of the site, looking at everyone’s tarp covered excavations, just minding his own business, when he hears voices.

“Did Boss say where to look for it?” A thick German accent asks.

“No,” It’s Russian this time, “Only that the scales went off in his location.”

“It’s a fucking excavation site. The damn thing to could be anywhere,” A new voice says. American.

Bucky hesitates, the water bottle’s condensation dripping onto the ground. He doesn’t know who these guys are, or why they’re here, but they could be looters and he does _not_ need looters hanging around this site. Nor does he need unskilled hands messing with the dirt. They could both steal their hard work and tamper with research- two things none of them can afford right now.

“Hey!” Bucky yells as he rounds the corner, cursing mentally because it’s five buff as hell men, “This is private property!”

One of the guy scoffs, nodding to another guy with a grin on his face. “Look at this kid.” He turns back to Bucky, “If you leave and don’t tell nobody we were here we’ll let you keep your tongue.”

Bucky knows he should run away, call the police, maybe jump into one of the dug out tombs, but something inside him burns and churns. He can feel his palms warming like the stone that’s kept in his pant pocket, he can see little fleck of red coming off the tips of his fingers like sparks from a fire. He tosses his water bottle to the side- reminding himself to come pick it up later because littering sucks- and holds his ground, gritting out, “I said this is private property.”

The guy who spoke first sighs, putting his head in his hand like this whole thing is such a waste of time. “Someone go beat him up.”

A guy from the back pushes through the group. He’s got a scar across his eye that looks so cliche Bucky could laugh, and a very frightening shock rod. The guy zaps it twice as he walks forward in threat, before letting out a scream that Bucky could only describe as a _battle cry_ and lunges forward.

Bucky effortlessly dodges the rod and quickly turns himself around to the guy. The guy lets out a pant before lunging forward once more. Bucky lifts his hands and lets out his magic. The red seeps forward, and curls around the man. He flicks the fingers of his left hand up, squeezing the man’s arm until the rod drops, and with a flick of his wrist he slams the man into one of the high ground excavation units, dropping him when the man passes out. Bucky walks over to the rod and kicks it away, turning around to the other four men, arms stretched wide, “Anyone else wanna’ stay on private fucking property?” He doesn’t make it known that he’s surprised at how well his powers worked, instead he stands tall and acts like he’s done this multiple times before.

Another guy comes forward, two knives in his hands, and Bucky grins.

* * *

* * *

There’s blood on his teeth, a cut on his lip, and a throbbing cheek that’s going to be one hell of a shiner in the morning, but all five guys are knocked out. He made sure to keep each one alive, not wanting to kill someone over the safety of the site despite the fact they were apparently out for blood, so they’re all out cold with minor injures.

With shaking hands, Bucky pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials _066_ , ignoring the fact that his phone bill is going to be higher than the Stark Tower this month.

[“¿Cero-seis-seis, cuál es su emergencia?”](%E2%80%9D%E2%80%9D) A woman asks, her voice calm.

Bucky flounders for a moment, opening and closing his mouth because the adrenaline is fading and he can’t think about anything other than what he just did, [“Cinco hombres trataron robarme,”](%E2%80%9D%E2%80%9D) He lies, tripping over his words and hoping that everything’s conjugated correctly.

[”“¿Y cuál es su dirección?”](%E2%80%9D%E2%80%9D)

Bucky rattles off the address, panic burning at his chest. He pushes his hair back with a hand, trying to take in deep breaths but failing. He can hear the responder asking him if he needs an EMS but her voice sounds like it’s underwater.

“I think I’m gonna’ pass out,” Bucky says, his body sways, eyes falling shut as everything fades to black.

* * *

* * *

For the second time in less than a week Bucky wakes up in a medical bay, but instead of it being the med bay at the site, it’s an actual hospital.

Bucky jolts up from the bed with a gasp, only to be tugged back down by the handcuffs he has locked on his wrists and the bed railing. Bucky pulls at the cuffs, panicking because what if he accidentally killed someone? What if they think he was one of the five men he reported over the phone? He knows he could use his powers to get out of the cuffs but he’s probably being watched and he’s in a public hospital, aka: a place people could see him using his powers and potentially detain him for them. Or worse: throw him in some sort of experiment to find out more about the Inhumans. 

The door to his room opens and Bucky stops tugging at the cuffs, panting from exertion. An officer walks in, he’s in a brown suit with his badge hanging on his chest, “Ah, James, you’re awake.” The man has a thick Mexican accent, he sits at the edge of Bucky’s bed.

“Where am I?” Bucky asks, eyeing the officer.

“The city hospital,” The officer says with a shrug, he extends a hand to Bucky, “I am Officer Castillo, I’m working on your case.”

Bucky looks from the man’s hand to where his are locked up against the railing, he raises an eyebrow.

Officer Castillo laughs, slapping his thigh, “ _Ay ay ay_ , that’s merely a precaution, James.” He leans back slightly, sticking a hand in his pant pocket, and pulls out a key, “Lest our eye witness wake up in an unfamiliar place and run away.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says dryly when Officer Castillo unlocks the cuffs, he rubs at his wrists, “So you caught all five?”

Officer Castillo shakes his head. “By the time the police arrived only four were left- the site you work on is very far from the town, you see. We assume one woke up and escaped before the force got there, and we can only hope that we catch him.”

Bucky frowns. “How do you know who I am?” The officer keeps addressing him by his first name, and mentioned the fact that he works on the site. He doesn’t know why he’s so suspicious of Officer Castillo, but it might have something to do with the red power he has.

“The site comes with permits and credentials, a list of all it’s workers and their identifications. We also found your ID in your wallet when we searched you,” Officer Castillo says with a shrug.

“Oh.” Bucky should have figured that was the case. Why should he be this suspicious of someone obviously trying to help him?

“Anyways, I’d like to get your statement.” He pulls out his phone, opening the recorder app before looking up at Bucky, “The cameras will get this as well, don’t worry.” He presses the recorder, “Swear that you will not lie.”

Bucky nods. “Sure, I James Buchanan Barnes swear not to lie.” And tells him what happened. He skips over the part where he has magical red powers, explains to the officer that he fought each one using the old boxing skills he doesn’t have, and mentions that the only reason he was able to beat them was because they fought him one on one while the remaining ones watched like it was a game. An uneasy feeling rises his in gut when he gives his statement because he’s lying, and he knows that lying to the government can get him into a lot more trouble than he needs. He’s just a not-so-simple archaeology major trying to get his doctorate.

Officer Castillo stops the recorder and nods, patting Bucky’s shin before rising, “A nurse will see you out. We have your number for further questions, and here-” he pulls out a business card, handing it to Bucky, “-Call me if you remember anything else.”

Bucky takes the card, nodding. “Will do.”

“Have a good night, James,” The officer says, nodding his head, and walks to the door.

“You too,” Bucky says, giving him a mock salute as he walks out the door.

Bucky lets out a sigh of relief when the door closes, and leans back onto the bed. He closes his eyes, listening to the silence with a feeling deep in his chest that his life is about to get twenty times harder, all because of the stupid stone. He wishes he could get rid of the damn thing, loving his power but not the trouble that comes with it, but he knows that it won’t leave him anymore. It’s like it imprinted on him, or something, and now he’s the owner. Bucky rolls his head back and forth on his pillow, letting out another sigh but this time it’s not of relief it’s of exhaustion.

He closes his eyes, only opening them when someone knocks on the door.

“Come in,” He says, hoping it’s loud enough and that the person on the other side understands English because he can’t be bothered to think in Spanish at the moment.

The nurse pokes her head in with a white bag. “I have your things,” She says, accent not Mexican but not American either, “You’ve been discharged, there’s a squad car waiting to take you back to your hotel.”

He pushes himself up from the bed, taking the stuff from her with a _thanks_ and watches as she leaves. With the third sigh in less than ten minutes, Bucky pushes himself up from the bed, ready to go and hoping he can get some sort of sleep by the time he gets to the hotel. He pats his pocket once- feeling the stone- and nods, time to go.

* * *

* * *

“Holy shit!”

Bucky’s head snaps up at the exclamation, wincing at the crick in his neck he got from his terrible night’s sleep. He sighs, knowing full and well what Bobbi’s yelling about and sets down his trowel.

“What happened to you?” She kneels down next to him in the dirt, setting her clipboard to the side.

“You should see the other guy.” Bucky grins, the expression tight on his face and hurting his split lip and bruised cheek, “But in all honesty,” he says, dropping the grin, “some guys were trying to steal something last night and jumped me.” The lie is effortless when it slips off his tongue. He’s had to tell it so many times between last night and now, from his bosses to freshman interns that he doesn’t even know. The whole damn site probably knows his lie.

The look on Bobbi’s face is unreadable. “Five guys jumped you and all you came out with was a split lip and one hell of a shiner?”

Bucky pretends to think on it before shrugging, “Pretty much.”

She eyes him for a moment, “You sure that’s the story?”

Bucky keeps his face straight, she has no reason to think he’d ever lie to her so he makes it seem as if he’s telling the absolute truth. “Cross my heart.”

“Okay.” She pushes herself up from the dirt, grabbing her clipboard and dusting off her grey cargos. She takes a step forward and pats Bucky on the shoulder, “I’m pretty sure you could take the day off. God knows you could use the sleep.”

He nods, giving her a small smile, “Thanks, but I’m good.”

Bobbi nods, patting his shoulder once more before walking away from him.

Bucky lets out a breath, hanging his head and looking down at his trowel. He doesn’t know why she’d think he’s lying or why he thinks she knows something’s up but he needs to be more careful with his powers. At the thought of his power the stone warms in his pocket, like the damn thing knows it’s on his mind. Bucky places his hand over his pocket, feeling the warmth and the edges of the stone through his jeans before dropping his hand back to the dirt and picking up his trowel.

Things seem to keep getting complicated. Great.

* * *

* * *

Bucky feels odd. Not the oddness that comes with his powers but odd in the way that he keeps looking over his shoulder, keeps flinching when someone rests their hand on his shoulder, and constantly checks his hotel windows and doors to see if they’re still locked. He’s nervous, worried, and it’s throwing him off. The hair on the back of his neck rising doesn’t help, either.

“You okay, Buckster?” Kate asks, no longer leaning to brush dirt off the tomb but sitting on her calves with a concerned look on her face.

“Yeah,” He replies, shaking his head and the clouds that fill it, “Just spacing off.” He picks up his thick haired paintbrush and leans over the gap of dug out dirt to gently sweep away anything clinging to the ceramic burial.

Kate’s quiet for a moment, her eyes on him until she sighs and goes back to carefully breaking the dirt around the ceramic burial with her trowel. 

They work uninterrupted for a couple of minutes. Both of them silent to the loud sounds of talking and wind around them. Bucky pauses after a moment when chills run up his spine. He pulls away from the burial and looks over his shoulder.

Around him are grassy ruins, some high, some low, some of them dug into. He can see the green of vines and grass, some trees that he hates oh so much because they interfere with artifacts, but nothing that would make a chill run down his back. Nobody’s staring at him that he can see, nothing’s over there but the damn trees and a student or two, nothing should make him feel this way.

Bucky lets out a shaky breath and turns back around to the burial. Kate raises an eyebrow at him but he ignores it for picking up his brush. If his hand shakes and the chill doesn’t go away he ignores it.

* * *

* * *

“Have a good night, Buck-Buck,” Kate says, throwing him a sloppy salute.

Bucky grins at the nickname. “Okay, _Katie_.”

Kate rolls her eyes and walks out of the tent, leaving Bucky alone with the ceramic burial.

They were finally able to get the damn thing out of the ground after a week or so of gentle, torturous digging and brushing. Thankfully, their work paid off and the burial’s completely intact. Unfortunately, though, this burial wasn’t for humans- like they supposed- but for a dog. The animal in question is laid out in anatomical order on the table, waiting for the animal osteologist to come and look over the bones. It’s a pretty neat find, if he’s being honest with himself, just not one he wanted. What else did he expect from a two foot high ceramic burial, though?

Bucky sighs, eyes burning with fatigue, and pulls off his cloth gloves. He rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands, letting out a loud yawn that anyone outside of the tent could probably hear. Dropping his hands, Bucky looks down at his watch, it’s closer to nine than eight at night. There’s probably only a couple other stragglers, like himself, that want to squeeze in some more work before their newly paid muscle kicks them out. Newly paid muscle being the guards the site owners had to shell out money for so nobody else gets jumped and the site doesn’t get robbed.

With this in mind- the very firm and unkind grip of said paid muscle- Bucky pushes himself away from the table, careful to not knock over the ceramic burial. He stretches his sore muscles, joints popping from him sitting too long as he rises on his toes and brings his arms over his head. He lets his arms and feet fall with a loud, fast exhale, and lets the light headedness of a good stretch wash over him before moving.

Since this tent is specifically for anything osteology related, Bucky leaves the dog bones and ceramic burial on the table. Someone will be by to see it in the morning and everyone knows that this is his and Kate’s find, anyways. With that in mind, Bucky takes off his gloves and picks up his satchel. He looks over the tent, making sure everything’s in order, and flicks the overhead lamps off, flooding the tent in darkness.

The night, like all of them, is slightly chilly. The moon’s covered by clouds and he can still see other tents with their lights on, meaning he’s not alone with the Muscle on the site. Bucky decides to head to the lit up tent, hoping that someone he knows is in the tent so they can face off the guards together. It’s not that all the guards are scary, it’s that they’re all stony faced and side-eye him like he did something wrong. 

Which, Bucky shrugs as he walks, they probably think he’s on steroids seeing as they know the situation with him. Bucky laughs to himself, looking down at the grassy path in front of him, he can feel the stone in his pocket and the power it gives him. If only the Muscle knew.

“Ow!” Bucky yelps, slapping the side of his neck, something bit him. Probably a fucking mosquito. He brings his hand back to his face, trying and failing to see in the darkness if he killed the damned thing. He sighs, rolling his shoulder to his neck, hoping to wipe the guts off, and continues walking. 

The first few steps he takes are normal, nothing wrong with them, but then it’s like a wave of vertigo hits him. He stumbles a couple times, tripping over nothing, his bag slipping off his shoulder. Bucky tries to focus on walking to the lit up tent, he tries to scream out for help, he tries to use any spark of his red power but nothing happens. It’s like he’s stuck in some warped nightmare, the world around him literally twisting, leaving him confused and defenseless. Bucky trips over a rock, he tries to pull his hands out in front of himself and soften his fall but even they don’t move. He feels himself grunt as he hits the earth, the cold ground meeting his face, and hears the sound of someone walking up behind him before it all goes black.

* * *

* * *

There’s something cold behind his back. His chest, thighs, wrists, and ankles are being held down by something. His head feels clouded, his eyelids too heavy to open. 

Bucky scrunches his face, groaning at the sharp pain on his forehead before remembering that it was his forehead that caught his fall. He doesn’t make any sudden movements as he opens his eyes, knowing full and well that he’s both been kidnapped and that he’s probably being watched at this very moment. 

The room he’s in is small. The walls are a drab grey, concrete, and there’s a two way mirror in front of him. The thing he’s on looks like a surgical table that’s angled so that if he wasn’t strapped in he’d slip off onto his head. The straps are some combination of leather and metal, keeping his body close to the cold surface. 

He’s pretty sure he could get out of these restraints if he used his powers, but he feels like he shouldn’t. They’re most likely what got him into this mess, in the first place, and he doesn’t want to show anyone what he can do. Besides, he’s still drugged up to hell and back and his powers take concentration. If he used them now he’d probably light himself on fire and that’s the opposite of what he wants in this situation.

Bucky sighs again, letting his head loll to the side, all he wanted to do was follow his parents’ footsteps and study archaeology. All he wanted was to keep studying the stone- that isn’t a fucking ruby- that couldn’t have came from any of the mines or caverns in the area. All he wanted to do was get his fucking doctorate. That’s all he wanted. What he didn’t want, and still doesn’t, is to be kidnapped and have crazy superpowers. He’s probably been abducted by a cartel and his head’s going to be in the plaza tomorrow morning because he’s going to hold his tongue between his teeth for the life of him. The last thing he needs, right now, is for a cartel to think they can use him as some sort of weapon. 

A door behind Bucky slams open, making him flinch. He rolls his head back to face the window and opens his eyes, deciding against faking sleep. Whomever opened the door doesn’t move towards him, doesn’t make a sound, for moments. They’re probably trying to psych him out, but he both knows that someone’s in the room with him and how fear tactics work. He’s watched enough cop procedurals and war movies in his spare time to know this. 

The person finally moves, their shoes clicking against the floor, and they walk in front of Bucky. 

Bucky tries to take in as many features as possible. Tall, white, male, blue eyes, creepy as fuck smile, olive green military formals that are not American.

The man shakes something in the air- Bucky’s satchel- and pulls out his I.D.,“James Buchanan Barnes.” The man reads, his accent thick and German, “I believe you have something I want.”

Bucky’s not sure if that warrants a response, so he says nothing.

“And that something,” the man continues, taking in a dramatic sigh before looking at Bucky, “is a red stone. I’m sure you’ve seen one, haven’t you?” He raises his eyebrow, motioning for Bucky to respond.

Bucky licks his lips, and pushes through the drugs to speak, “Sorry, can’t say I have.” He says, almost slurring the words because of the drugs.

The man sighs again, frowning. “Look, James, you’ve done nothing wrong to us other than show us who the weak links of the team were.”

Bucky doesn’t let his eyes widen, but it all makes sense. These people are looking for the stone, they sent people to the site searching for said stone, and Bucky beat those people up.

“We cannot have weak links on the team, so you did us a favor,” The man continues, “You’ve done us a favor and you’re nothing but an archaeologist trying to make a name for himself, yes?”

Bucky nods, unsure.

The man smiles, placing Bucky’s I.D. back in his bag and placing the bag on the floor. “Then just tell us where we can find the stone and you can be on your way.” 

Bucky licks his lips, unease filling his senses and making the blood in his veins turn cold. If he gave them the stone he could come out of this situation a little drugged but mostly unscathed, but he knows what the stone can do and how it shouldn’t be placed in the wrong hands. Which is what he’d be doing. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Bucky says, “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man frowns, “James, do not make us do rash things.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He repeats, using it like a military member would use their I.D. in a POW situation. Repeating it over and over again until he knows nothing but those words.

“I will ask once more: do you know where the stone is?” The man says, his voice loud, almost making Bucky flinch.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man’s frown is laced with anger. He turns to the mirror and knocks on it three times before turning back to Bucky. “It did not have to come to this, James, if you answered the question.” The man tisks and shrugs, “But here we are.”

The door opens behind Bucky, slamming against the wall, making him flinch. Someone pulls another strap over his head to keep him pressed against the table. He tries looking at what’s going on around him but he can’t see a damn thing except for the concrete walls and the ceiling. He can hear the sound of something sloshing by his head, another set of feet in the room. His vision is obscured by a rough cloth covering his face and he knows where this is going.

Bucky braces himself for the water, for the suffocating feeling of wet cloth against his nose and mouth, he braces himself as much as he possibly can.

* * *

* * *

The towel’s still wet, soaked as it lays on Bucky’s face. He tries to breath in, tries to do _anything_ to get some oxygen, but nothing works. His powers won’t rise, he can’t move, he’s helpless. Both the sensory deprivation and the suffocating towel add to his panic, to the harsh rise and fall in his chest, to him praying for death because that would be easier. Death, though, doesn’t come and the waterboarding doesn’t stop.

Bucky flinches when his torturers start yelling a foreign language, their voices bouncing off the walls, and the sound of shots being fired creep in from beyond the room. He can feel one of them undoing the straps, not to set him free but to take him with them in their flee from the unknown thing causing everyone around him to yell, and he wants to fight back. He wants the towel to drop from his face, the water to stop clogging his nose and mouth so he can just fight back, but instead the door slams open and the yelling starts up once more.

He knows it’s not one of their members from the way they drop his body back on the table and the way they shout. Someone shoots a gun in the room, making Bucky flinch once more and whimper from under the cloth. He keeps his eyes shut tight, hoping that it’s not another malicious group trying to get the stone but cops or the military. 

Even with some of the straps undone Bucky still can’t make the move to get off the table. He’s delirious from both the drugs and the fight or flight adrenaline that fills his veins He can only lay there and hope for the best.

“Hey,” A voice says from beside him when the room becomes quiet. The voice is male, Bucky notes. The man takes the cloth off from over his eyes, and Bucky breathes in deep. He lets the oxygen fill his lungs, lets it wash over him in a way that it hasn’t since this whole interrogation started.

“We’re here to save you,” The man tells him, stepping in front of him to undo the rest of the restraints.

Bucky can’t make the man out, his eyes blurred over with drugs and possible tears, “I don’t know what they’re talking about,” Spills from his lips, his chest heaving slightly, “I don’t know what they’re talking about,” He continues to babble that one line, the only thing stopping him from coughing.

“Shh,” The man says, undoing the restraints, “I’m gonna’ pick you up, okay?”

Bucky nods, biting his lip to try and keep himself from babbling, shutting his eyes. He doesn’t even know who this guy is, for all he knows it’s another group after the stone, but he can’t move in his current condition. This man is all he has, at the moment.

He’s gently lifted from the metal table, cradled against a chest so carefully he could probably cry. 

“Let’s get you out of here,” The guy says.

All Bucky can do is nod and lean against the chest of whomever’s saving him. He can’t find his voice to speak, he can’t move his limbs to hold on, all he can do is nod and lean. The man holding him asks him something but his voice is washed out like someone put a shell to Bucky’s ear. His heartbeat's slowing, his eyes shut, and he feels so incredibly tired. Instead of fighting the sleep, he lets it take him, lets darkness wash over him, and hopes that whomever’s carrying him doesn’t have any malicious intent.

* * *

* * *

Bucky wakes with a start, his heart racing, a cold sweat already coating his body. He tries to pull off the towel, tries to breath in air that’s not water clogged, tries to fight back. When he tries pulling the cloth off, though, his hand meets a plastic mask, an oxygen mask. He knows, he _knows_ that it’s only there to help him, but he can’t have it on his face, he just can’t. He tries to pull it off, to lift it over and off his head but his arms and body feel too weak. His fingers can’t get a solid grip on the mask, can’t hook under the elastic strap to pull it off. Bucky whimpers at his useless state but continues to try pulling the mask off. He doesn’t notice the door opening until someone speaks.

“Hey, hey,” a voice says softly.

Bucky looks up to the voice and lets his hands drop. If he remembers correctly, the man speaking is the man that saved him.

“I can’t get the mask off.” His throat hurts when he speaks, voice weak and scratchy.

“You need to keep it on,” the man says, and takes a seat in one of the chairs next to Bucky’s bed.

Bucky shakes his head. “No.” He doesn’t want something on his face, “Help me take it off, please.”

The man frowns, leaning forward in his seat, “If you don’t keep it on you won’t be able to breathe.” 

Bucky hesitates, he doesn’t know what’s worse: having something on his face or going through the panic of not being able to breathe, so he says nothing. He leans back in the bed, trying to ignore everything on his face for looking around. “Where am I?” The room he’s in isn’t exactly a hospital room but it’s not _not_ , either. There’s heart monitors, fluids with IVs connected to him, a flat screen displaying his stats on the wall across from him. The bed he’s lying on isn’t a normal hospital bed, it’s large and plush with sheets that feel like the ones he has at home. It’s odd.

“You don’t know who I am?” The man asks, his tone half amused and half concerned. 

Bucky eyes the man. He’s got blonde hair that’s ruffled like a duckling, bright blue eyes, and is built like hell. Honestly, this man could be almost anyone famous. “No.” Bucky answers, clearing his throat to try not to cough. The guy looks familiar but it’s nothing Bucky can immediately put his finger on.

“Steven Grant Rogers, also known as Captain America, but you can call me Steve.”

It’s like a light bulb goes off in Bucky’s head at that moment. Of course, the man who saved him and carried him like a damsel in distress is Captain-Fucking-America, of course he is. Which, Bucky realizes, looking at the room again, means he’s probably in Manhattan at the Avengers’ Tower, thousands of miles away from Mexico and the site. Fuck him and his life.

“Why am I here?” He asks instead of mentioning the chest cradle or the fact that Bucky forgot one of the most important people to American history, up there on the importance level with the Founding Fathers.

Steve sighs, obviously not prepared to jump into the heavy conversation of what exactly is going on. “You were kidnapped by a group named HYDRA--”

“Wait-” Bucky interrupts, “-those people actually exist? They’re not just some group historians made up?” Those are the people that decided to take him hostage and, essentially, ruin his life? Make him struggle for air while asking him to tell them about the stone he decided to protect with his life? No wonder it was stressed that they’re the Big Bads in the world of malicious people.

Steve laughs softly, “They’re pretty real, and they kidnapped you because of some stone you may or may not have.”

Bucky narrows his eye at Steve. He knows he can trust these people but he’s protective of that damn stone. He got tortured over it, he’s not just going to give it up. Not like he even can since it won’t leave his person.

“What is the stone?” He asks, instead, not derailing the conversation but pushing it in a different definition, “Because I’m no geologist but that ain’t your run of the mill ruby.”

“No, it’s not.” Steve sighs, leaning back in his chair, “The stone you found is an Infinity Stone.” He stops talking like Bucky’s just supposed to know what that is.

“Sorry, pal, they didn’t cover magical stones in Intro to Geology,” He drawls, raising an eyebrow for Steve to continue.

Steve huffs a laugh, “Of course they didn’t, silly me.” Sarcasm drenches his words, it makes Bucky grin, “Infinity Stones are these.. _stones_ ,” Steve says with a confused frown, “that were created from the universe itself and contain magic so powerful they could destroy civilizations.”

Bucky feels his eyebrows raise, he looks down at his hands and the power that surges through them. He knew the stone was powerful, but he didn’t think it was can-destroy-civilizations-powerful. 

“Which is why,” Steve continues, “the stone can’t fall into the wrong hands. Can’t claim the wrong hands.”

Bucky looks up from his hands to Steve. “The stone claims people?” That confirms his assumption.

Steve nods, pursing his lips before speaking, “The one you found does, yes.”

“And how do you get unclaimed?” It’s a stupid question but one he needs to ask.

Steve’s quiet for a moment. He says it simply, like it’s a no brainer: “Death.”

“Oh.” Bucky’s breathless, like he was punched in the chest.

“Yeah.” Steve nods, “Which, lucky for yourself, you don’t seem all too bad. We can train you to work with the powers we know you have before anything gets out of hand.”

Bucky frowns if he stays here then he won’t finish his doctorate. “What about the site? My doctorate?” The thing he’s working his ass off for as has been since he took his first AP test in high school. If he’s not allowed to go back to the site he won’t be able to finish his dissertation, he won’t be able to graduate with his PhD, and while he’s scared as fuck about going back out to the site, he’ll do it. He can’t let them keep him from the site, not now when the stakes are this high.

“I don’t know,” Steve says, he looks down at his hand before looking up at Bucky, “I guess it’ll have to wait until you’re healed, safe, and in control of your powers.”

“ _It’ll have to wait_?” Bucky repeats, his voice somewhere between offended and scandalized. He shakes his head, “No.” He uses what little spark of magic he has to take the mask off his face and throws the blankets back with as much strength as he can muster. He shifts his body to get off the bed, ready to pull out the IV in his arm.

Steve stands up from his chair, holding his hands out, “You can’t leave, you need to heal, we need to protect you.”

“What I need,” Bucky growls, pushing himself up and off the bed, “is a plane ticket back to fucking Mexico and a doctorate in my hand.” He steadies himself as he stands, slightly wheezing without the oxygen mask, he sticks his hands in the pocket of the scrubs he’s apparently wearing and pulls out the stone, “What I need is all of this shit to be gone and out of my life.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Steve says, shaking his head, still standing like he’s ready to catch Bucky.

“What-” Bucky narrows his eyes, squaring his shoulders to try and match up to Steve in his shorter, weaker body, “-you’re going to keep me prisoner?”

Steve frowns. “No, we’re trying to protect you.”

“If I’m not prisoner then let me leave.” Bucky tells Steve, ripping out the IV- it hurts more than the movies show-and moves around his body to get to the door. He can feel his heart pounding and phlegm building up in his throat as he tries to make it to the door. It’s not until there’s hands catching him under his armpits that he realizes he was falling.

“Slow down, Buck,” Steve says, helping him up.

Bucky bites his lip to keep back frustrated tears but follows Steve’s movements back to the bed. He sits at the edge, hand coming up to his chest as he tries to breathe through the phlegm constricting his chest. Bucky takes the mask when Steve offers it back, pressing it gently to his face, his greedy lungs gulping in the oxygen. He doesn’t strap it back on to his face but holds it just so he can breathe.

Steve pulls his chair from it’s original spot and sits in front of Bucky. “Look, HYDRA won’t play nice, they’ll do anything they can to get you or the stone.” He lowers himself to meet Bucky’s eyes as Bucky hunches on the bed, “They’ll kill you. They’ll kill anyone you know if you go back to that site, but us?” He motions to himself, “This is our job, and until we can either contain them or get you strong enough to fight back you shouldn’t leave.”

Bucky drops his eyes, clearing his throat, “I’ve worked so hard for this degree, _so_ hard. Not going back would mean giving it up.” Letting down his parents and the museum. Letting down himself.

“You would die for it?” Steve asks.

Bucky meets Steve’s eyes, “Yes.” His parents did and he would too. Archaeology is so much more than what he studies, it’s his life. It’s his blood.

Steve shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t let you do that.”

Anger runs through Bucky’s veins again. If he wasn’t drugged up or sick with whatever the hell the water in his lungs has given him, his red power would be probably be surrounding him. At times it reacts to his emotions. “You don’t even know me.” He spits out, “All you and your team care about is that stone, not what it’s attached to, so stop acting like you do.” 

All anyone wants is the stone, they don’t want him, why would they? He’s just a civilian. Steve was the person sent in to look after him because he has an innocent face. Steve’s not the scary one, he’s the All American Boy, the one Bucky should be confiding to, right now. He knows a ploy when he sees one.

Steve frowns, sitting up straight in his chair. “Is that what you think? That we do this job with no care for the innocent people who happen to get into the crosshairs?” Steve huffs and shakes his head, “And here I thought you’d be grateful we saved your life.”

“Thank you for saving me after they had their fun,” Bucky spits, “thank you for taking me away from my livelihood and not letting me go back.” He takes in a deep breath, his chest shaking with the movement, “Thank you and the stone for ruining my life.” 

Steve rises from his chair, anger on his face, and Bucky flinches back, averting his eyes from Steve. He doesn’t know why he thought Steve was going to hit him, he doesn’t know why he flinched, he doesn’t know why fear’s spiking his blood. His reaction had to be happening for a reason, his body must be trying to protect him from something.

Whatever Steve was going to say dies on his tongue. He sighs, “Stay, please?”

Bucky slowly raises his eyes to look up at Steve. He can see concern and care that looks genuine on Steve’s face. Genuine enough that it makes Bucky want to believe Steve’s actually feeling those things. He can feel the anger flowing in his blood lowering to a simmer, the reasonable part of his brain telling him to stay until he heals then leave. 

“Fine, but only because I’m too weak to leave.” He’s not staying on his own accord, if he could he would be on the first plane back to Mexico, but he’s too weak and- possibly- too afraid to leave.

“That’s all I ask,” Steve sighs. The relief in those words not going unnoticed by Bucky.

They fall into a silence, Bucky just trying to breathe and Steve watching him. 

A moment later Steve jumps, like he came out of a trance. “Let me help you lay down.”

Bucky takes the offered help, holding the oxygen mask to his face while Steve pulls the covers over him. It’s petty, but Bucky rolls to his side, facing away from Steve and staring directly at the stone.

Steve sighs, “A doctor will be in later to reattach your IV and inform you about your current state.”

Bucky can hear him walk to the door.

“I’ll see you around,” Steve says before dimming the lights and leaving.

Bucky lets out a deep sigh, the exhale hurting his sore throat. He can see the stone glowing in front of him in the darkness of the room. He reaches out with the hand not holding the mask to his face. Bucky rubs it between his fingers and pulls it closer. The stone’s smooth like when he first found it.

Right now the stone’s the only thing that’s been through all of this with him and while he wants to hate it, he can’t. The stone, despite it being the thing that messed up his life, is the only stable thing he has. His degree is up in the air, his mind and body aren’t all here, and the Avengers want to take him in under their wing. All of that is a little too much to think about, right now. 

Bucky closes his eyes with another painful sigh, and hopes that his dreams aren’t plagued with HYDRA and darkness.

* * *

* * *

“It’s fucking hot,” Bucky mumbles, kicking the sheets off his body.

“It’s not hot. You’re body temperature’s just elevated.” 

Bucky jumps, quickly turning himself around to face the voice. He momentarily forgot he wasn’t back in Mexico and is instead in where- he assumes- the Avengers live. 

A woman stands where the voice came from, her back to a wall, arms crossed over her chest. “Which one of them are you?” Bucky croaks, looking around the bed for his oxygen mask.

The woman nods her head and points with her eyes towards Bucky’s pillows. “Behind you.”

He twists his body and sets his eyes on the mask. Picking it up with a grateful nod, “Thanks.”

The woman hums, eyeing him. 

“You never answered my question,” Bucky says, breathing deeply into the oxygen mask.

“Natasha.” She answers.

He throws her a mock salute with his fingers, “Bucky.” 

He’s almost positive she’s the one they call Black Widow, but he could be wrong. She could be Scarlet Witch, for all he knows. Either way, she probably knows more about his current situation than he does _and_ she could kill him. He’s not about to cross her in any way or form, “So, what’s wrong with me?”

“You have pneumonia,” Natasha tells him, no sugar coating, “couple scratches, and a group of Nazi’s after your head.”

“How pleasant,” Bucky mumbles, he moves himself so he’s in a comfortable position on the bed, “When can I leave?”

Natasha snorts, pushing herself away from the wall to settle in the seat Steve sat in before. “You’re sorely mistaken if you think you’re leaving anytime soon.”

Bucky frowns, “Why?” The second he’s better he’s gone. He’s going to catch the first flight back to the site and keep himself to his own personal timeline. He’s getting his PhD.

“You’re sick, you don’t know how to fight, and you pretty much have a red dot on your forehead.”

“But my--”

Two gentle knocks on the door cut Bucky’s sentence off.

“Come in,” Natasha calls, not taking her eyes off Bucky.

Bucky breaks the stare to look at the door. He doesn’t know why, but he’s hoping it’s Steve, something in him wants it to be Steve. Of course, it’s not.

A petite Asian woman and a man with glasses step into the room. The woman has a cart with her that she leaves at the end of Bucky’s bed, rounding it to come to his side.

“Hello, James. I’m Doctor Helen Cho.” She extends her hand out for him to shake, a genuine smile on her lips.

Bucky shakes her hand. “Call me Bucky.”

The other man that came in with her steps up by her side, extending his own hand with a sheepish smile, “Bruce Banner.”

Bucky drops Helen’s hand to shake Bruce’s. “Nice to meet you.”

“How bad does your throat hurt?” Helen asks, she pulls a tool out of her pocket, “I’m going to roll this across your forehead to take your temperature? It’ll only take seconds.”

Bucky eyes the tool, he doesn’t want anyone touching his face. Not right now, at least, but she’s doing it to help him. After a moment he nods, “My throat hurts kinda’ bad,” He tells her, keeping himself as stiff as possible as she rolls the tool across his forehead.

“You still have a fever,” Helen says, looking at the thermometer, “Hundred and one, but we’ll continue giving you antibiotics for that.” She nods down to his arm, “How does the IV feel?” 

“Like an IV.” It doesn’t feel bad, but it’s not great either. A nurse came in the night before to replace the one he ripped out, tsking at him while she did. If he could pull it out again he would, but it hurt like a bitch last time, and like with the thermometer and the mask: it’s only helping him.

Helen hums, pulling what looks like a phone out of her pocket, “JARVIS is monitoring your heart rate, so far it’s fine.” She smiles at him, “That’s good, Bucky.”

“How long have I been here?” He was too angry yesterday to ask Steve.

She taps at the screen, “About four days.”

He nods, that length is to be expected. If it were over a week he’d be freaking out. “And how long will I be here? Medically speaking,” He asks, keeping his eyes on Helen and not the holes Natasha’s burning into him.

She looks back down at her small tablet, “Two, maybe three weeks? You have a lot of liquid in your lungs that needs to be monitored. Once you're able, though, they should be moving you to your own floor.” She looks over at Natasha, then Bruce, “Isn’t that right?”

“It’s being set up as we speak.” Bruce nods, he looks over to Bucky, “When you’re feeling better I’d like to see what exactly you can do with your powers.”

For some reason Bruce is the only person he’s met- other than Helen- that Bucky doesn’t want to snap at. Bruce seems nice and a little timid, from what Bucky can tell. He’s also the Hulk, Bucky knows this. He’s also a scientist with degrees, like Bucky, if anyone would understand Bucky it would be Bruce.

“I understand that you want to leave,” Bruce continues, taking his silence for a ‘no’, “and I get it, I went through grad school, too. But if you could stay so we can help you train, protect you, I promise to help you with your dissertation to the best of my ability.”

Bucky eyes Bruce, he seems like an honest man, and he knows what Bucky’s been through. Agreeing to stay won’t mean that Bucky isn’t still pissed as hell, but if Bruce is promising to help him that’s something, isn’t it? Their sciences aren’t the same, but they share the title of being a scientist, they share common struggles, this could work, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll stay. Just until I get better.” Bucky shrugs, “Walking around with pneumonia isn’t something I want to do.”

Bruce gives him a grateful smile, “Thank you.”

Bucky nods once. He’s pissed, that isn’t gone and might never be gone during his stay. Everyone here, though, is just trying to help him. Like the mask, IV, and thermometer. They’re all things he wishes his person doesn’t need to be in contact with but unfortunately is.

Everyone’s just trying to help him and he’s being an ungrateful douche.

* * *

* * *

Bucky seems to be sleeping like a cat, as of late. 

He’ll open his eyes for a few moments, ready to wake up, only to shut them and sleep again. It might be something in all the medications he’s on, or just his body trying to heal itself via dreamless sleeping, but it keeps happening and he’s not sure whether to praise it or hate it.

This time when Bucky wakes up it’s not because he’s fallen in and out of sleep, but because there’s two loud knocks on his door before it opens. Bucky pushes himself up on his elbows, thankful that Helen switched him from the oxygen mask to a cannula, and squints at the door through his sleep-blurred eyes.

“Hey,” Steve says, poking his head in, “I have food, and company if you want it.” He raises the tray in his hands and motions with his head behind himself, “Sam’s here, too.”

Bucky doesn’t know who Sam is but he’ll take both the company and the food. Besides, he owes Steve an apology, “Come in.”

Steve grins like Bucky made his day, stepping into the room. A man with a wide smile featuring a tooth gap following him.

“Pull the table over?” Steve asks the man.

The man nods, rolling the table from its spot by the wall and settling it in front of Bucky, adjusting the height.

“I do have hands. The only thing fucked up here are my lungs and head,” Bucky tells them bluntly, looking between the two.

The man snorts, extending a hand when he’s finished adjusting the table. “Sam Wilson, nice to meet you.”

Bucky nods, taking his hand for a curt shake of his hand. “Bucky Barnes, same.”

Steve sets the tray on the table in front of him before stepping back, looking oddly sheepish. “We don’t know what you could eat yet, but Doctor Cho recommended soup that’s not too hot.” He shrugs, looking at the tray, “So that’s what this is.”

Bucky can see Sam grinning up a storm from the corner of his eye but ignores it for looking at Steve. “Thank you.” He tells him, dropping his eyes momentarily to look at the steam coming from his bowl, “I think I owe you an apology.”

“No--”

Bucky raises his hand, frowning at the odd pull of the IV. “I’m sorry for how I acted,” Bucky says, taking in a deep breath before letting it out, “But you’ve gotta’ understand where I’m coming from. That site wasn’t just some hole in the ground, it was my life. It was everything I’ve been working toward since high school.” Bucky shakes his head, tugging at the blanket, “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Look, man.” Sam says, sitting down in one of the chairs by Bucky’s bed, “Some of us, like me and Steve, only asked for part of this by joining the military. What we didn’t ask for, though, was being a hero- an icon.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, “It sucks, to be pulled away from what you, love, _who_ you love because you’re a tiny bit more special than the next guy, but it happens.”

“It’s happened to most members of our team.” Steve shrugs, sitting down in the empty chair next to Sam, “It’s your decision if you want to stay, Bucky, but do know that you can do both. You can be an archaeologist along with being an Avenger. It’s not impossible.”

“Wait,” Bucky says, narrowing his eyes, “am I being recruited?” What both Steve and Sam are saying sounds like a recruitment speech. Unless he’s missed something, he thought he was only staying here for protection, healing, and to gain strength. Not so he could become the latest cape-clad member of the Avengers.

Steve and Sam share a look.

“Nobody came in and talked to you?” Sam asks Bucky before turning and looking at Steve, “You didn’t talk to him?”

“I wasn’t told to do that, I thought that was Clint’s deal.”

“Clint went on a mission with Nat an hour ago.”

“Oh, well then.” Steve looks up at Bucky, “We’d like to offer you a spot on the team.”

Bucky blinks at Steve, probably looking owlish as ever, “What?” Because really: _what?_

“There’s a spot on the team if you want it,” Sam tells him, “It’s not all fighting all the time like you might think. I still run a VA, go home to my husband, but I also help save the world.” Sam grins, “I love saying that I can save the world.”

Bucky looks between the two men, from Sam’s gap toothed grin to Steve who just looks hopeful, “I don’t even know if I’m staying past medical necessity.” He needs to rethink his life and what being on the team would mean for him. He’s just an average guy that happened to gain powers, but- from what he can see- so are most of the people here. Everyone was average before they became super, except for that guy on their team who’s a god from another realm. He’s always been super.

“Totally, man. It’s a big decision,” Sam says, rising from his chair, “We’ll leave you alone to think and eat.”

“We will?” Steve asks, looking up at Sam before sputtering: “Yeah, we- uh- will.” Getting up from his own chair when Sam gives him a pointed took.

Bucky wants to tell them to stay, ask Sam to talk about his husband and his life away from being a superhero. He wants the two of them to talk his ear off and take his mind away from his thoughts of being a hero, of being a little broken, of not being able to go back to Mexico, but he doesn’t say anything. He lets them stand, tell him goodbye, and leave him in a quiet room with a bland tray of food and only his mind to keep him company. 

Bucky sighs and picks up the spoon set next to the bowl of soup. He pushes the contents of the bowl around, noting that it’s actually chicken noodle soup, before scooping some up with his spoon. His hand shakes slightly as he raises the spoon to his mouth, with nobody in the room asking him to be polite, Bucky slurps it. The liquid is a gross lukewarm but it goes down his throat smoothly, which is more than he can ask for at this point. If the soup were actually warm it’d probably taste better, but for now he’ll deal with the cold, almost slimy, version of it.

He gets halfway done with the bowl before he puts down his spoon and picks up the styrofoam cup instead. The tea is warm too, not even diluted with melted ice, just warm. He assumes all his food’s going to be an odd gross-warm until his throat heals. He’ll get used to it, he supposes. 

Bucky sets down the cup and pushes the table away from him, settling back against the headboard. He tugs at the tape securing his IV, wincing slightly at the way it pulls his hair and skin, but relishing in the fact that it’s a sensation other than sleepiness. 

He doesn’t know if he wants to join the Avengers, he doesn’t even know why’d they want him, if he’s being honest. He can’t do much with his powers and they haven’t even seen them. The offer could just be a ploy to keep him here, but he’s doubtful. Steve and Sam wouldn’t have spoken to him about the offer the way they did if that was the case.

Bucky sighs roughly. He’s got a lot to think about.

* * *

* * *

With charm and wit, Bucky gets himself a phone. It’s a landline, yes, but it’s still a form of communication that he thought he might not be able to have during his stay. 

Bucky quickly punches in Bobbi’s phone number, hoping she has her cell on her, and waits. He doesn’t think anyone will particularly mind if he calls Mexico, seeing as all the Avengers are loaded and the call probably goes on Stark’s bill, anyways. Besides, he’s not about to wait for permission. 

The line rings three times, making Bucky wonder if she’s going to answer before it goes through. “Bobbi Morse,” she says, professional as ever.

“Bobbi, it’s Bucky.” He lets himself grin into the phone, his voice still hoarse and sore, “You’ll never guess where I am.” Bobbi’s been with him since grad school, he trusts her. He won’t mention the stone, his powers, or the fact that he was tortured, but he’s willing to mention the fact that he’s staying in the Avenger’s Tower. Nobody told him he couldn’t disclose his location, and he didn’t have to beg for a phone so he thinks he’s good.

She hums, “Avenger’s Tower?”

Bucky blinks, confused, “Uh..” He considers, for a moment, that she might be HYDRA. That Bobbi could be the person that tipped them off and pointed them in his direction, before she clears it up.

“Being an archaeologist isn’t my only job. I work for a CIA-type group that works with the Avengers. I’ve been waiting for your call.”

He’s silent for a moment, thinking things over. “Were you in Mexico looking for the stone, too?”

“Not exactly,” Bobbi sighs, “I was here because I wanted to be. The stone being found and what happened to you was just coincidence.”

Bucky considers spewing a Matrix line but refrains. “How’s the site?” He knows hearing about the site will just make him long to be there but he needs to know how it’s going. He wants to know about the dog burial he found with Kate and if his position is still open for him to go back to. The only person who can tell him these things and know the truth about his situation is Bobbi. She’s his light in the dark. Coincidence or not, he owes her.

“Good. Hot. Boring now that you’re not here to be our entertainment,” she jokes, “you’re not missing much, Bucky.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he promises, “I don’t want to miss out on more than I have to.”

Bobbi’s silent for a moment, “You know they’re there to help you, right?”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, but they can’t keep me from my life.” 

“Buck--”

“I’m not planning on staying here. I don’t want to stay here. There’s nothing here for me.” Sure he could train and become and Avenger but that’s not what he wants to do with his life. Everyone around him only talks to him because he’s an Inhuman. Nobody _actually_ cares.

She sighs. “Whatever, okay.” A pause, “Hey, do you want me to send you the stuff from your hotel?”

“Please?” He’s glad she both dropped the subject and is willing to send him his things. How he misses his notebooks.

They talk for awhile more. Bobbi goes into detail about new findings from the site. She promises to send him his things along with some research from the site before hanging up.

Bucky looks down at the phone. Talking to her was nice, especially because she’s someone from before this all happened but also because she’s his only tie back to the site.

She might be employed by a group that works with the Avengers but she’s his only bit of normalcy and he intends to keep that.

* * *

* * *

“Hey,” Steve says, poking his head into the room, “Brought you some clothes.” He raises a bundle in his hands.

“Thanks,” Bucky tells him, taking the clothes when they’re handed to him, “I think it’s time for a shower, anyways.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Are you strong enough to shower?”

“I hope so.” Bucky _really_ hopes. He doesn’t like feeling dirty when he doesn’t have to be. In the field he’s supposed to get grimy with dirt, but right now? No. He can feel the grease on his skin, where his whole body needs a good scrub down. It’s an annoying layer that’s just sitting on his skin, waiting to be washed off.

Steve doesn’t say anything, so Bucky takes a moment to look at the clothes he was given. 

It’s a matching sweat pant set, the shirt short sleeved, in a deep Navy blue. He rubs his fingers against the collar of the shirt, a frown on his face. The only way for him to both get this shirt off and on is for him to pull it up and down. For him to have cloth rubbing against his face, pressed against his face. He knows HYDRA did a number on his mental and physical state, but he didn’t expect a cotton shirt to put a spike in his heart beat, to make him panic.

“Bucky? Buck, are you okay?”

Bucky pulls his thoughts away from the clothes, from the Cloth, to look at Steve. He licks his lips, unsure what to ask for in his situation, “You remember what happened to me? With the--” He motions with his hand to his face.

Steve nods. “Yeah, of course I do.” The _I was the one to find you_ is left unsaid but hanging in the air.

“I can’t deal with things pressed against my face,” Bucky says quietly, still rubbing his fingers against the shirt collar, hoping that Steve will get it.

“Oh, I uh, I can find you a button down?”

Bucky gives Steve a small smile. “Please? And scissors, too.”

Steve nods. “Button down and scissors, got it. Wait-” He gets up from his chair, and goes to one of the cabinets against the wall, pulling drawers out and moving things around, “-got it!” He raises a pair of scissors in triumph, handing them to Bucky, “I’ll be back to go find the shirt.”

“Thanks,” Bucky tells Steve, utterly grateful, taking the scissors. 

He waits for Steve to leave before slowly swinging his legs over the side of the bed, resting his bare feet against the tile. With one hand Bucky pulls his shirt away from his body, using the other to cut a line from the hem to the collar. He lets out a sigh when he’s free from the material clinging to his chest, free from having to pull the shirt over his head. 

Bucky traces the IV line from his hand up to a pole, and cheers in his head when he realizes that the thing has wheels. He takes the cannula off his face and wraps a hand around the IV pole.

On shaky legs- a reminder that he shouldn’t be getting out of bed without assistance- Bucky rises from the mattress. He keeps one hand on the IV pole with a vice like grip, not wanting to take a spill on tile floor. 

His legs shake as he walks but the pole becomes his makeshift cane and assists him. Along with his shaking legs, his chest heaves slightly without the cannula supplying him oxygen but he ignores it and keeps moving. Bucky pushes open the door he assumes is an en suite and lets out a shaky sigh of relief when it is. 

Bucky closes the door with a gentle push, leaning against the heavy wood for a moment to catch his breath and try to gain more strength for the shower ahead. After a moment Bucky pushes himself away from the door, still holding onto the pole. 

In the bathroom there’s both a shower room and a bathtub, and out of habit he heads to the shower and turns it on. Bucky slips his clothes off while he waits for the water to heat up, sticking a hand in to check the temperature every now and then. Once it’s warm enough for his liking, Bucky steps into the shower.

And immediately regrets it.

The water spraying directly into his face makes him flinch in shock and his heart pound against his chest. He knows that this water isn’t the Cloth or the bucket that HYDRA used on him. He knows- rationally speaking- that where he’s at is safe, that he’s safe, but he’s not thinking rationally.

Bucky doesn’t raise his hands, doesn’t try to rip the Cloth off. He knows that’ll only make things worse. That doing so would only make HYDRA come back with more anger towards him. 

He tries to back away from the water, but it’s still spraying on him. It’s still clogging his nose and throat, they’re still asking him if he knows where the stone is but he can’t speak. He can’t utter a word, can’t yell, because the Cloth is still on his face. The Cloth is there and he can’t take it off, he can’t even _try_ to take it off. 

He can feel his heart pounding against his chest, can feel pain of the short and shallow breaths that he takes in. He can feel the Cloth still on his face 

Somewhere in the back of his mind he can hear someone knocking on the bathroom door. With as much strength as he can pull to the front of his brain, he tries to focus on the knocking, on the sound of Steve’s voice. But he can’t do anything. He can’t open his eyes, he can’t move away from the wall, he can’t speak. He tries tapping into his power, letting it follow his instincts to pull the damn bathroom door and get him some help because right now- in this state, with a cloth that isn’t there atop his face- he can’t help himself.

He knows it worked when the water stops hitting his body and there’s two warm hands pulling him away from the wall.

“You’re safe, Buck. You’re safe,” Steve says into his hair, holding him close to his body.

Bucky knows he’s probably soaking Steve’s clothes, probably embarrassing himself, but instead of focusing on that he wraps his own arms around Steve’s warm body. Steve, fucking amazing Steve, just holds him closer, whispering that it’s going to be okay into his hair. Bucky doesn’t know if it’s actually going to be okay, if he’s going to make it back into the world unscathed, but all he can do is be held and listen to the deep timbre of Steve’s voice.

They end up moving out of the shower, Bucky still holding on to Steve, still shaking. His mind is still on the Cloth and the fact that all he wants is to be warm.

“I gotta’ let you go so I can get a towel,” Steve says softly, regret filling his voice.

Bucky shakes his head. “No.” It’s both to the towel and to Steve leaving, he doesn’t want to let go and he doesn’t want to go to bed smelling like a wet dog, “I still want to bathe. Take me to the tub.” He’s being stubborn, he knows this, but he just wants to be warm and clean.

“The water won't..” Steve trails off, unsure what else to say.

“I won’t be submerged, my face won’t touch the water. I’ll be okay,” He says it more to himself than Steve.

Steve holds him for a moment longer. Hesitates, “I’ll need to let you go.”

Bucky nods, he drops his arms from Steve’s body and accepts the towel that Steve hands him. He wraps it around himself to the best of his ability to keep himself warm, rubbing the terry cloth between his fingers. He watches as Steve fills the tub, pouring in some sort of soap that foams the water. 

Bucky steps towards the tub, yanking the cord of his IV to pull the pole forward. He waits quietly, watching as Steve fiddles with the faucet. He shivers slightly, trying to pull the towel around him, uncaring of his nudity at this moment. 

Steve pushes himself away from the tub and extends a hand, “Let me help you.”

Bucky takes the hand, grateful for something else to help him with walking. He stops by the tub when Steve does, looking into the soapy water before dropping his towel. Steve’s already seen him naked, this isn’t anything new, and at this point he doesn’t think he has an embarrassed bone in his body. He shifts his weight onto Steve’s hand and steps into the tub.

The sudsy water is the perfect balance between warm and hot, sending a pleasant chill up Bucky’s bones when he steps in. He keeps his hold on Steve’s hand as he lowers himself into the water, almost grinning at the fact that his whole almost-six-foot-body actually fits in the tub. From his pecs down are submerged, his head far away from the water and any thoughts of the Cloth. He lets himself relish in the warmth that surrounds him, finally able to relax after days being here. 

They both stay silent for a moment, only the sound of water swishing when Bucky makes a movement filling the silence. 

Steve stays sitting on the lip of the tub, still holding onto Bucky’s hand. Oddly enough, Bucky doesn’t mind the touch, hell, he _likes_ it. He doesn’t think he should. Not because he has internalized homophobia- because he doesn’t, he’s gay and perfectly fine with that- but because this is Captain America, this is Steve. This is the guy that saved him and continues to keep saving him. He shouldn’t like the hand holding because he doesn’t want Steve to believe for a second that Bucky’s attached to the help Steve brings to him. Bucky doesn’t even know why he’s attracted to Steve like this but that he just sort of is. He should think about this new attraction, but he can do that later.

Bucky clears his throat, trying to push out the thoughts of his newly found attraction to Steve and where the hell it came from. “Sorry about all this. You don’t need to stay.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Steve says, squeezing his hand, “It’s a perfectly normal reaction to what you’ve been through.”

Bucky keep his head against the tile wall, not looking at Steve. “You still don’t need to stay, though.” The words come out of his mouth true, but he doesn’t let go of Steve’s hand.

“I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do,” Steve says, not letting go, “So, tell me about your research.”

Bucky looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. “The stuff I was doing at the site?”

“Yeah, like what is all of it? The only thing I know about archaeology is what I’ve seen in Indiana Jones,” Steve says, grinning like he’s letting Bucky in on a secret.

Bucky snorts, thinking about how Indiana Jones makes Archaeology seem way more exciting and dangerous than it actually is. “All of that is completely inaccurate.”

The grin stays on Steve’s face. “Then explain it to me.” He gives Bucky a coy shrug, “I got nowhere to be.”

Bucky eyes him for a moment, excitement to talk about his passion filling his blood. He explains everything from the process of getting a location, to the actual excavation, to post-excavation. He talks about the cool things him or his professor has found like a stamp that looked like a man eating bunny but was actually a map, to his first find that were a couple of duck bones in an abandoned plantation. He talks about his parents, their travels, and doesn’t let Steve feel bad for a moment about their death. He goes on and on, their laughs and smiles filling up the bathroom, until his body is pruney and the water’s gone cold. 

The best part isn’t Bucky being able to talk about what he loves, or the fact that he didn’t think about the Cloth once, but that Steve held his hand through the hours they sat there talking and didn’t shy away from helping Bucky dry off after. That, in Bucky’s opinion, was the best part.

* * *

* * *

“So I just need to hit the center of the target?” Bucky asks, turning around in the wheelchair he was forced into to look at Bruce.

Bruce pushes up his glasses with his index finger, a nervous tick Bucky supposes, “You can hit it anywhere, really, I just want to see what you’re able to do.”

Bucky turns back around to look at the bullseye. He’s about fifteen feet away from it, he can do this. He breathes in deeply, closing his eyes to put all his concentration into his power. He can feel it rushing through his veins, filling his body like it hasn’t done since he’s been here. The feeling, the rush, is so good that a small laugh bubbles from Bucky’s lips before he can contain it. Satisfied with the rush of power Bucky opens his eyes and lifts his left hand, letting an orb of red fly from the tips of his fingers into the center of the bullseye. 

He turns around to Bruce again, grin on his lips, “How was that?”

“Amazing, Bucky,” Bruce says, smiling, “Your powers are similar to Wanda’s, can you pick things up?”

Bucky nods, lifting a pen from the front pocket of Bruce’s pocket before dropping it back in. He grins up at Bruce, using his power to turn the wheelchair around to face Bruce. “And this is while I’m sick and drugged up.”

“You have good control over your powers.” Bruce nods, “Did you practice while you were on your site?”

“Yeah. Mostly in my hotel, though.” He looks around the wide space that is the training arena in the Avenger’s Tower, “Never in a space this large.”

“I think with help from Wanda you could be much stronger. Have you met her?”

Bucky shakes his head, so far he’s met Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Bruce. He’s missing a couple more introductions. “No, not yet.”

“Well, she’s probably the best one here to train you.” 

Bucky nods slowly, licking his lips. He hesitates before asking: “Why did you join the Avengers?” He knows Bruce’s backstory: world renowned scientists tries to recreate Captain America serum... and fails. He’s the person all his science professors joke to not be like, _Don’t become your research like Doctor Banner did_ they’d joke, and of course he’d laugh because: how could be become his research when he digs things up and looks into their past? Oh, if he could tell his past self just how much he became something he dug up.

Bruce sticks his hands in his pant pockets, shrugging, “Science. They needed help with another Infinity Stone and they knew I was the person who knew the most about it.”

“And why’d you stay?” He doesn’t know Bruce’s past but if they only needed his help for one thing then why’s he still here?

“Because while they need my brain they need my body, too. They need the Hulk.”

Bucky nods in understanding. “I’m not sure what to do,” He says honestly, “I don’t know if I should stay here until I’m able to leave or stay here and join you guys. If I leave I could complete my PhD, but honestly.. I’m not sure if I’d regret it.” Would he regret leaving and going back to the site? Would he miss whatever friendships he’s made? Would he miss Steve?

“You can still finish your PhD, you know,” Bruce says, shrugging again, “It’s not impossible to be both an Avenger and do other things.”

Bucky keeps his hands on the wheels of the chair, rolling himself slightly forward and back. “But the site I was working on was a major part of my dissertation.” Sites don’t last forever. This one was scheduled to close up shop by October but Bucky highly doubts he’ll be able to find any substantial research by the time he leaves here.

“We can pull strings to get you on a similar site, and I’m pretty sure your university’s board will be highly understanding since the reason you couldn’t complete it on time would be because you were an Avenger in training. But it’s completely up to you, just think on it.”

Bucky nods, sighing, “I will.”

“Need help getting back to your room?” Bruce asks, taking a step towards the wheelchair.

“Yeah, I don’t know my way around yet,” This is the first time he’s been out of his room since he got here, all the halls look the same, and he knows he could ask JARVIS for help but that option’s for desperate times.

He lets Bruce move the chair through the halls and into elevators, seeing as he knows where to go unlike Bucky. When they finally make it back into Bucky’s room, Helen’s there.

“Hey, Doc,” Bucky greets, accepting Bruce’s help back into bed.

“Bucky.” She nods, looking down at her tablet, “You’re doing quite well. Haven’t had a fever in days, you can breathe without a cannula, and you can eat most foods now.”

 

“What does that mean?” Bucky asks, taking the stone out of his pocket and placing it on the table next to him, trying to get comfortable.

“That you can be moved out of the medbay.” She smiles, “We just need you to be able to walk on your own before doing so.”

“Do you think I could switch from the chair to a walker?” He needs to start trying to walk on his own, if he doesn’t start now then who knows how long it’ll take for him to get back on his feet.

Helen nods, “I think we can do that.” She pulls her little roller thermometer out of her pocket, “Now let me take your stats.”

* * *

* * *

_Something thick and rough is covering his face._

_Bucky brings his hands up to pull the cloth off, but it won’t budge, it won’t move. He tries to flip it off by thrashing his head side to side, but even that doesn’t work. He can feel his heart rate picking up, thumping against his chest so hard Bucky’s concerned it might rip out. He tries to scream, tries to do_ anything _to get the damn thing off, but nothing works._

_There’s a voice by his head, one that’s familiar but that he can’t hear. It sounds washed out, it sounds distorted it, he wishes he could hear it. What he can hear, though, is the sound of water. It swooshes, some of it splashes on his neck, making him flinch. He tries to move again, to get away, but it doesn’t work. Another drop of water lands on the cloth, dampening his forehead, and the voice starts up again. He tries to scream that he doesn’t know anything about the stone, that he’s just an archaeologist, that he didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Nothing._

_More water lands on his forehead, slowly creeping towards his nose and mouth. His heart rate increases. It hasn’t even started and he feels suffocated, he feels like he’s drowning. He can hear the water as it pours out of the bucket, as it soaks the towel, as it clings to his face as it cuts off--_

Bucky wakes with a shout and hands on his shoulders. His heart is pounding in his chest, he can feel sweat coating his skin, and taste blood in his mouth where his screams ripped his throat.

“You’re safe, nobody’s going to hurt you, you’re safe,” Steve repeats, holding his shoulders gently.

“Steve?” Bucky croaks, looking around his dark room, “What--”

Steve drops his hands from Bucky’s shoulders but stays sitting on the bed, “You were having a nightmare.”

He remembers the nightmare. Feeling so helpless as the Cloth started getting soaked with water and clung to his face, “Why’re you here?” He doesn’t feel like talking about the nightmare, not now.

“I came to bring you your things. Bobbi sent them and they got here. But when I opened the door you were having a nightmare.” His eyes drop to the mattress between them, “I couldn’t just leave you like that, but I can leave now, if you’d like.”

Bucky tries to read Steve’s expression in the darkness of his room, but he can’t. He can hear in Steve’s voice, though. He’s being genuine and in all honesty Bucky can’t fathom being alone right now. He takes Steve’s hand in his, “Stay, please?”

“Yeah, yeah, I will,” Steve replies, squeezing his hand.

There’s an awkward stretch in time where Bucky isn’t sure what to do. He wants to lay back down- the nightmare taking too much energy out of him- but he doesn’t want to let go of Steve’s hand, nor does he want Steve to have to sit in a chair next to his bed. He’s also not sure if asking Steve to lay with him is being too forward because they’re nothing but friends. Steve, though, _has_ seen him naked numerous times and sits with him while he bathes, talking his ear off so he doesn’t think about the water. This, though, is new territory they haven’t yet breached. While it would be platonic I-just-had-a-nightmare-cuddle-thing Bucky’s feelings for Steve are way more than platonic. 

Bucky fumbles with his words for a moment, trying to figure out what to say, when Steve speaks.

“Lay back down, Buck.”

Bucky, grateful that Steve took the reins and spoke first, slowly lays back down on the bed. His hand is still in Steve’s and he’s not sure what Steve’s going to do but what he isn’t expecting is to hear shoes being kicked off and Steve sliding in the bed next to him.

“Is this okay?” Steve asks quietly.

Bucky shifts to his side, bringing Steve’s hand onto his stomach, before relaxing into the bed, “Yeah, this is good.” He can feel Steve shifting behind him, and for a moment he feels guilty. He thinks about the fact that he’s using his nightmare to get his crush to cuddle up to him in bed, that he’s stooped to the lowest of the low, before realizing that Steve wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t want to. This- lying down together- was Steve’s idea in the first place, and Steve probably thinks it’s completely platonic. Bucky’s the one with a crush, not Steve.

“Are you okay?”

Bucky tries not to shiver when he feels Steve’s breath touch his neck. “I don’t know,” He answers honestly. Steve laying down next to him took his thoughts off the nightmare, off the Cloth, but now he’s just unsure. He hasn’t had a nightmare about the Cloth or HYDRA before, and nothing made him think about the Cloth today. 

His day went well, spent mostly with Bruce before getting the good news that he was almost out of the medbay. Then again, it could have been the good news that made the nightmare rise to the surface. He got good news only because he was in a bad situation, and he’s tried very hard since day one to forget about the situation at hand.

“It’s okay to not know, you know.” Steve makes a shrugging movement, “I didn’t know I was chalked full of problems when I came out of the ice, it takes time to figure them out.”

“What if I don’t figure them out?” He knows he has some sort of PTSD, but he doesn’t know everything that can trigger him, only the obvious bunch. Like: things being pulled over his head, things that cover his face, water. There’s probably going to be something obscure that’s just waiting to freak him out. 

He knows people learn how to live with PTSD, but he doesn’t know if he can. He used to be so free willed, willing to try anything just once. Now he’s worried about leaving the safety of the Tower when a couple weeks ago he was ready to bust out of here. Being alone with his thoughts for the majority of the day has put things into perspective for him.

“Then we’ll help you. _I’ll_ help you,” Steve says it like a vow, his voice righteous even in a whisper, “You’re not alone in this, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t tell Steve that he knows he has people by his side because he doesn’t know. His parents died when he was young, he never had lasting friendships in school, and all his relationships ended before they even began because he’s always been focused on his career and education. He’s never had anyone substantial in his life and he wants to believe that Steve will be that person, but he can’t let himself fall into that just yet. 

Instead, Bucky closes his eyes, pulls Steve in a little closer, and hopes that Steve will pull through. That Steve’s vow won’t fall flat because he hasn’t had someone in his life like that, and he thinks he’s ready to.

* * *

* * *

Bucky wakes up warm and content. His head pillowed on Steve’s chest, Steve’s fingers idly running up and down his back. He has to purse his lips so he doesn’t full on smile. He lets himself pretend that he’s still sleeping but only for a moment longer. He wants to bask in Steve’s warmth, just lay and let Steve rub his back, pretend that they’re more than whatever this is. He gives himself that moment, less than two minutes, before he sighs and pushes himself up with the elbow not on Steve’s chest.

Steve smiles at him, his blonde hair sleep ruffled, “Good morning.”

“Mornin’,” Bucky replies quietly, tracing Steve’ face with his eyes before pulling away to sit up. He’s not sure how to go about this. Does he thank Steve? Does he act like cuddling is something friends just normally do? “Sleep well?”

“I think I should be asking you that,” Steve says, raising an eyebrow, “Did _you_ sleep well?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yes, I did, surprisingly. Now, did you sleep well?”

Steve’s eyes light up like the fact that Bucky slept well made his whole day. “I’m glad, and I did sleep well.”

Bucky nods, letting his eyes wonder around the room before they land on some very familiar bags, “Oh, hey, my stuff.” He sends a mental ‘thanks’ to Bobbi for getting his stuff to him.

“Yeah.” Steve pushes himself out of the bed, going to the backpack, “I was told to handle this one with care.”

Bucky makes grabbing motions at the bag, taking it in his hands when Steve hands it to him. He unzips the bag, taking in the familiar scent of his things. Smiling at the contents when the bag’s unzipped, “My notebooks.”

“Your notebooks?” Steve asks, sitting back down on the bed.

Bucky flips the bag upside down, dumping every leather covered notebook out of the bag. He pulls his dozen or so to the side and pushes his parent’s additions toward Steve. “Those belonged to my parents before they died.” He puts his hand on his own stack, “These are mine.”

Steve picks up one of them, raising it, “May I?”

“Yeah, go for it.” Bucky watches as Steve gently opens the notebook, his fingers running along the written text. He leans forward to see which notebook it is. “That’s when they excavated down south in the Yucatan. Lotsa’ mentions and drawings of snakes in that one.”

“Snakes and trees, apparently,” Steve snorts, flipping the notebook around to show Bucky the entire log on how trees should go to hell.

Bucky laughs, “Every archaeologist will tell you they hate trees, rats, and water- unless it’s frozen.”

Steve looks up from the notebook. “Frozen?”

“Yeah, if things are kept somewhere really cold or really hot they’re preserved much better than somewhere with drastic or seasonal change.”

Steve blinks. “So if I crashed the plane somewhere with just ocean and no ice I probably wouldn’t be here?”

In all honesty, Bucky forgot Steve wasn’t from this time. If he remembered he probably wouldn’t have mentioned the whole ice thing. “Probably not. Water helps with decay whereas the ice prolongs it.” Bucky frowns, “You might be the most well preserved artifact known to man.” Steve’s a fully functional superhuman that saves the world and remembers the past better than the history books can tell it. Steve’s an archaeologist’s wet dream.

Steve _is_ an archaeologist’s wet dream. One archaeologist: Bucky Barnes.

“Thank you?” Steve asks through a laugh.

“It’s a compliment, trust me.” If he were the archaeologist that found Steve he probably wouldn’t let him throw his body into battle. He’d probably have creepily studied him and cried when Steve’s heart started beating again. It would have been an awkward experience for both of them but a one way ticket for him to work with the Smithsonian. He’s not sure if he prefers that life to this one.

Steve eyes him before going back to the notebook, “I’ll take your word for it, then.”

* * *

* * *

Bucky wakes with a start when he feels someone poking his face. “Wha--” he’s glad he didn’t sit up all the way because if he did he would have hit the person in the face.

“You’re awake!”

Bucky blinks the sleepiness out of his eyes before realizing who’s in front of him. “Tony Stark?”

Tony grins. “Glad you know my name. Now-” he pats his legs, “-get up it’s time for you to get out of this boring floor and up to your own.”

“My own?” Bucky asks, clumsily getting out of bed, sticking his feet in the slippers he’s been wandering around the place in.

“Boy you’re slow. They told me you were a PhD candidate, you sure that’s true?”

Bucky slowly catches up to where Tony’s already left the room, not quick on his feet yet. “I’m pretty sure you can access all my grades since I first went to school, check for yourself.” He may be staying in this man’s building but he’s not about to take shit from him. “Now, where are we going?”

Tony sighs, “Must I explain everything?” He presses the button to the elevator, “Your floor. I’m taking you to your floor, Bucko.”

“I get my own floor?” He assumed he’d be shoved in some sort of general housing, not in his own floor.

Tony steps into the elevator, waving him in. “Every Avenger has their own floor, it comes with the title.”

“I still haven’t accepted that title yet,” Bucky mumbles, leaning against the wall of the elevator, crossing his arms over his chest.

“We all know you’re going to accept it,” Tony snorts, “Who wouldn’t?”

“Someone with a life outside of fighting crime and a PhD with their name on it.” Even if he joined their team he wouldn’t be able to commit all his time to it. He has research to do and a name to be made for himself. It can’t be all crime fighting all the time.

Tony shrugs, pulling a phone out of his pocket. “You can do both, it’ll be easy. I can see it now: Bucko the crime fighting archaeologist.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

The elevator opens silently to a spacious and fully furnished loft-like floor. He cautiously steps out of the elevator, taking in the modern space. It’s nice, but this is Tony Stark, so why wouldn’t it be nice? 

“This is your floor,” Tony says simply, walking backwards in the middle of the room with his arms spread wide, “Everyone has one. I would have set you up with Steve but Pepper doesn’t think you two have discussed moving in yet.”

“Steve and I aren’t dating.” Bucky frowns, wondering why they’d even think that. He opens his mouth to question Tony when the elevator opens behind Bucky.

“And that-” Tony says, ignoring Bucky, “-is Pepper-” Tony frowns, “-and Capcicle.”

Bucky turns around, coming face to face with the CEO of Stark Industries. He extends his hand, “Ma’am.”

Pepper smiles, taking his hand. “James, how nice to meet the newest Avenger.”

Bucky takes his hand back after they shake. “I haven’t accepted that title yet.”

She smiles at him in a way he can only describe as _Oh, honey_. “Do you like your floor?”

He shoots a small smile to Steve who returns it before turning back around, hoping Steve doesn’t see the slight flush to his cheeks. “I haven’t see much of it, to be honest.”

Pepper nods, smiling, “How about we give you a tour?”

* * *

* * *

He literally has his own floor in the Avenger’s Tower. It’s equipped with a fully stocked kitchen, three bedrooms, two baths, and a living-dining room with an open floor plan. If he was a normal post-grad with loans up the ass living in a closet dubbed as an apartment, he’d be gobsmacked with the luxury, but he’s not a normal post-grad. He’s loaded with his dead parent’s money, he has zero loans, and a condo with a view that’s five minutes from campus. Instead of being gobsmacked, he’s just slightly stunned. 

“Like it?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s looking out one of floor to ceiling windows, taking in the New York horizon. “Yeah, it’s nice. Very modern, though.”

Steve chuckles, “You don’t do modern?”

“Chrome, glass, and marble aren’t exactly my style,” Bucky says, wrinkling his nose, “I prefer something a little more cluttered and dusty.”

“Vintage?”

Bucky turns to Steve, eyeing him up and down with a small grin on his lips. “Yeah, vintage.”

Steve grins back, Bucky’s flirting completely obvious. “Well, vintage suits you.”

Bucky turns back to the window, not hiding his smile either. “I hoped that it would.”

* * *

* * *

Log 1  
Date: August 20th  
Time: 10:13AM

It’s been a while since I wrote in here. Since the last log I was kidnapped, saved, and accepted an invitation to be an Avenger. I didn’t want to, not really, but I have the power to help prevent others from being in a situation like my own. I can help the team out when they need me while doing my research and studies. I can also petition an extension for my dissertation and hopefully graduate next December. I can do this (I hope).

In other news: Captain America’s gay (bi? pan?) and going along with the little flirty lines I throw his way. Out of all of this I never expected to fall for someone, much less an American icon, but here I am. I still don’t know when to make a move or if he thinks my crush is savior-related but I hope when I do decide to make a move he’s ready too.

The stone’s okay, too. I still want to get it dated (using an absolute dating technique, like radioactive dating) but I’m not sure if Stark or Bruce have something that could do that in their lab. I know it was made before Earth was even a blip in space, but I want to know when it came here, what all did it see, and who did it belong to at the site? If I can’t be at the site doing research then I’ll do it here, hell, maybe I’ll make my whole dissertation about this stone. Can I do that? I might have to ask permission from some higher up if I can write about the stone and all that it can do.

Log 2

Date: August 21th

Time: 4:34AM

Just had a nightmare.

It was the same one as last time and I don’t want to think about it but maybe writing it will help calm me down? I’m not sure. Steve wasn’t here, like last time, and I have the strongest urge to call for him or go to his room but I don’t want to use him as a crutch. I don’t want him to think I’m using him as a crutch. It would be nice to have someone here.

I think sleeping in a new place gave me the nightmare. There’s no sound, not even the cars on the street can be heard, whereas on the medbay floor I could hear the nurses, doctors, and occasional other patients. I might turn on the TV or find somewhere I can play music. I wonder what happened to my cellphone.

Maybe I’ll just start the day already. The gym/training room’s open and I need to get back on my feet anyways. Pepper said there’s clothes for me in the dresser, hopefully there’s something I can workout in.

* * *

* * *

Bucky’s been hitting targets with his power for the last hour or so when someone taps him on the shoulder. He flinches, stunned, and turns around, yanking his headphones off. There’s a girl in front of him. She has long auburn hair, eyes smudged with eyeliner, and a small smile on her face.

“Wanda,” she greets, taking one of his hands in hers to inspect it, “you and I share similar abilities.”

Bucky watches as she flips his hand over. “Name’s Bucky, nice to meet you.”

She nods, dropping his hands, “Show me what you can do?”

“Yeah, no problem.” He lets his headphones hang around his neck and turns around to where a target’s already waiting for him. With a deep breath, Bucky raises his left hand and shoots out a blast of red power, knocking the target down with a flash. He turns back to Wanda, “You can do that too?”

“Yes, but your powers are more fire related.” She shoots her own blast of power at the target, the red pushes the target down but doesn’t light it up, “Can you lift things?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah.” He scans the room, looking for something to lift, when his eyes land on a plyo box. He turns his body to the box and takes in a deep breath. 

Lifting things takes more of his concentration than shooting his power does. He slowly raises his hands, letting the red power seep from his fingers and engulf the box across the room. With another breath, Bucky slowly lifts the box in the air and reels in his power, bringing the box closer to him and Wanda before shakily putting it down in front of them. Bucky pants when he takes his power back in, there’s sweat dripping down on his nose and his heart feels like it might beat out of his chest. It’s exhilarating. “I can’t lift heavy things, yet. It takes a lot out of me.”

Wanda nods, “Do you have any telepathy skills?”

“No?” Bucky doesn’t know if she does or if he’s supposed to, but he doesn’t have any. He can’t read minds or any of that shit.

“There lies our difference.” Wanda grins, “Okay, so we need to help you with lifting heavier things and taking out multiple targets at once.”

Bucky nods, “Yeah, sure, whatever you see best, coach.”

Wanda’s grin spreads, “Let’s get started then.”

* * *

* * *

Log 3

Date: August 23rd

Time: 5:44PM

I think if Wanda didn't want to fight crime she’d be a really good personal trainer. She really knows how to push me and how to get me to lift 100 pound weights without much complaining. I think it’s the toughest workout I’ve even been pushed through, honestly. I’m going to be sore everywhere because not only do I have to work on my powers, I have to work on my own physical strength. I really should have figured, but I didn’t.

My goal, apparently, is to be able to throw Steve through a window because he likes to be launched into/out of places. I’m pretty sure Steve could lift me with his pinkie (which will be useful in.. other situations..) but I can’t even hold up 100lbs for a minute without wanting to pass out from the strain and concentration.

One day, though, I’ll be able to lift Steve and maybe when I finally make my move on him we can have some kinky levitation sex.

(but that would mean having enough power and concentration to hold the both of us up while other physical things are happening all while trying not to catch the curtains or, god forbid, us on fire.)

A man can dream.

Log 4

Date: August 24th

Time: 4:55PM

Wanda is tiny and evil and mighty and I want to take her under my wing as my little sister

Today, while breaking from her torture, we bonded over the fact that herself and myself both are without immediate family. Apparently, her parents died during a bombing and her brother died on their first mission with the Avengers. Like me, they got their powers through an Infinity Stone and didn’t really ask for this life but were thrown into it anyways. I understand and don’t fault her reasonings for believing that HYDRA was the way to go in dealing with her pain. The break got pretty sad, and if she wasn’t nineteen I’d have asked if she wanted to come back to my floor so we could drown our sorrows in the champagne I found. But, she’s still underage and I haven’t drank myself under the table in years so we went back to training.

I swear this is worse than P90X. I’m sorer than I’ve ever been in my life, but the stone seems pretty happy that I’m using my powers (don’t ask how I know it’s happy). I still can’t lift more than 100lbs with my power, but it’s only the third day of training so it’ll come with time.

I also found out that while I want to take Wanda under my wing, Steve already has. He acts both like a brother and a father to her. He’ll pop his head into the training center and ask if she- me by extension- needs water or a towel before he comes in, if we’ve been training for hours on end Steve will make us stop for a lunch break, and he always takes a moment to ask her how she’s doing. I didn’t think I could like Steve more, but here I am, fawning over his fatherly potential. It’s almost pathetic, and Wanda notices it which means Steve notices it. Lord help me.

Log 5

Date: August 25th

Time: 8:12AM

I. Am. So. Sore.

Log 6

Date: August 27th

Time: 12:33PM

Wanda thinks I should ask Steve out already. Wanda no longer knows what’s good for me.

Wanda knows what is best for Bucky and Bucky should listen to her because she is amazing and is training him.

Wanda needs to stop writing in my ~~notebook~~ DIARY

Bucky needs to stop being a baby and ask Steve out

Log 7

Date: August 29th

Time: 5:48PM

I was able to toss Steve across the room! It wasn’t exactly a throw, more like I was able to lift him and get him a bit farther than where he was previously. It was exhilarating! Everyone was cheering, I was freaking out, and I swear to god I almost kissed Steve in that moment- when he ran over to Wanda, and I, that is. But I held back, I didn’t want it to seem like I kissed him just because I was excited. When I kiss him I want him to know that it’s because I like him and want to be with him, not because I just woke up scared from a nightmare or because I was finally able to lift Steve in his complete tac gear and shield. I want him to be as sure as I am that I like him.

Anyways, they told me in a couple weeks I could go on my first mission and that since the HYDRA base in Mexico was neutralized I could go back to the site only if some other Avenger went with me. If Steve and I are in a stable relationship I’ll ask him, if not I’ll ask either Wanda or Bruce. Wanda’s never been to Mexico and Bruce is helping me date the stone/petition my dissertation.

We’ll see how it goes.

Log 8

Date: August 29th

Time: 5:48PM

Wanda and I had a bet. If I could throw a 300lb weight across the room, farther than where hers landed, I didn’t have to ask Steve out. If mine came up short I have to ask Steve out.

Mine came up short.

* * *

* * *

Bucky turns around in the mirror, checking the fit of the pants, and nods to himself. He looks good. He’s in the best button down he owns (which is saying something because Pepper bought all his clothes), a tight fitting pair of slacks, and loafers. If he had more time he’d have bought Steve a bouquet of flowers, any type, just so he doesn’t show up empty handed to Steve’s floor. He doesn’t have more time, though, and he knows Steve won’t mind.

With a deep breath in and a slow breath out, Bucky moves away from the mirror. He shakes his hands out as he walks to the elevator, nervous as hell despite the fact that he and Steve have been openly flirting for sometime now. Maybe it’s because he comes with a lot of emotional baggage and isn’t going to be the most willing Avenger, what with his education and research. Maybe it’s because this is going to be the first relationship he pursues that he wants to last for as long as possible, maybe it’s because this isn’t some summer crush but something more substantial. It could be any of those things, at this point, but Bucky tries to shake it off.

He presses the button for the elevator, not wanting to speak to the ceiling, and waits. 

Bucky lets out another shaky breath as he steps into the elevator, “Steve’s floor,” he says, leaning against the glass wall. 

He can feel the butterflies as they flutter around his stomach, he can feel his heart beating in his chest, but most of all: he can feel the nerves. They should be off-putting, they should make him want to run back to his floor, but instead they keep him standing there. Those nerves keep him wanting to see Steve and his face when Bucky confesses. They give him a steady smile when the elevator stops and the doors open.

“Steve?” Bucky calls into the floor, stopping in the foyer. 

“In the kitchen!”

Bucky nods to himself, breathing in for a moment before exhaling and walking to the kitchen. 

“Hey.” Steve grins raising a colander from the sink, “Just in time for dinner.” He looks over Bucky’s clothes, “Unless you’ve got somewhere to be.”

Bucky licks his lips, leaning against the counter, a foot or so away from Steve. “Actually, I have a question for you.”

“Oh?” Steve says, dumping the pasta into a bowl before turning around, “And what’s that?”

The butterflies roar and rage in Bucky’s stomach, “Would you like to join me for dinner.. On a date?” He looks up at Steve, hoping that the answer’s ‘yes’, hoping like hell that the flirting wasn’t just for fun but because he wants him too. 

Steve’s face lights up, his blue eyes shining. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

“Is that a yes?” Bucky asks, biting his lip to hold his smile back.

Steve closes the space between them, their chests only just touching, “Yes.”

* * *

* * *

**Epilogue**

_Steve_

“Doctor James Buchanan Barnes!” Calls the president of Arizona State.

Steve watches as Bucky walks across the stage, bending to get a puffy hat dawned atop his head, the biggest smile on his face. He taps his phone screen to make sure it’s still recording, laughing when Sam and Riley start screaming louder. 

They’ve been dating for a little under a year, now, and it’s had its ups and downs. Nothing’s perfect between them, they both get nightmares, they both worry about other’s perception of themselves. Steve’s too selfless and Bucky’s too careful, but it’s been the best ten months of Steve’s life. While it took a tragedy for them to get together, a tragedy and time, neither of them would change it for the world.

Steve sits down when Bucky leaves the stage, laughing once more when Sam bumps him in the shoulder.

“Your boy’s a doctorate!”

Steve looks down at the video of Bucky, playing on loop, “He sure is.” If there’s tears in Steve’s eyes nobody mentions them.

“You proud?” Riley asks, leaning over Sam, grin on his own lips.

“Yeah, yeah, he got his dream.” Steve might be the proudest person in this room. No matter what they went through, what mission they were thrown into, Bucky always dragged him back to Mexico to finish his research. Since the beginning, since they first met, Bucky’s focused on his education and research. It’s been his life, his dream, and he finally got it.

“Now we have to wait for everyone else to walk. Damn him for having a last name in the beginning,” Sam jokes, leaning back in his seat. 

“It’s all worth it, though,” Steve says, more to himself than anyone else because his life, _their_ life, what they’ve gone through, while terrible at points, has all been worth it for this moment.

* * *

* * *

Bucky pushes through the crowd of graduates and families, ignoring the congrats he gets as he goes because he needs to find Steve. He needs to kiss his boyfriend right now. 

He tip-toes, looking over the crowd, and grins when he sees a blonde head of hair. He continues pushing through the crowd and runs to Steve when he has him in sight, jumping up on the man.

Steve lets out a startled laugh, wrapping his arms around Bucky. “Congrats grad!”

“Thank you,” Bucky laughs, grinning, wrapping his own arms around Steve’s neck.

“So, what’s next?”

Bucky shrugs, “I got invited to Iceland for an excavation. Six months of cold and mystery, if you’re up to it.”

“I’ve never been to Iceland, might as well bank off my boyfriend’s genius while I can.” Steve says, grinning, “Congrats,” He repeats, his voice softer.

Bucky lowers his face, their lips brushing, “Thank you.” He closes the space between them, kissing Steve in full for everyone to see. He can hear Sam and Riley wolf whistling behind them, there’s probably prying eyes freaking out that Captain America and Scarlet Warlock (Bucky hates whoever dubbed him that name) are making out at a graduation, but he doesn’t care. He’s gone through so much to get here, he’s gone through pain and loss and he’s going to kiss his boyfriend until they’re separated for public indecency. 

They’ve both gone through so much, in all honesty. There’s ups and down, pain and anger, but Bucky wouldn’t change a thing, not if he’d lose out on this.

* * *

* * *

Log 456

Date: July 6th

Time: 5:22AM

I’m heading off to Iceland! Myself and Steve, that is. We’re waiting in the airport for the plane so I decided to jot down a quick log.

I’m not sure what Iceland holds for us, how long we’ll be there before one of us is called off to save someone, what it’ll do to our relationship (further it, I hope, seeing as there’s a velvet box in my bag just waiting for Steve) but I’m excited. It’s nothing like my parents’ research- not in somewhere hot or muggy or in the Yucatan- but maybe this is better. I’m starting my own research. I’m turning a new page, so to speak. While it took me a long time to get here, with unexpected road bumps in the way, I don’t regret any of it.

I don’t regret a damn second.

Well, our flight just got called and Steve’s looking sleepily impatient so I have to cut this log short. Let’s hope Iceland is as mystical and wonderful as it’s said to be! 

(And let’s hope Steve says yes when I pop the question when we go see the black sand beaches.)

Off to Iceland I go!

_-Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> The waterboarding is not explicitly described. The description only goes as far as Bucky feeling suffocated, but even that's after the fact. The scene leading up to the fade to black waterboarding is directly after Bucky gets shot with a dart in the neck. It's mentioned again throughout the fic and there's a nightmare featuring it but nothing explicit happens due to him waking up. If you have any other concerns do not hesitate to send me an [ask](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/faq).
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the fic!
> 
>  
> 
> [Rebloggable link!](http://pesmenos.tumblr.com/post/149237493425/absolute-dating-technique-by-earthseraph)


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